Bridges
by freeflow
Summary: After years of peaceful coexistence, the realms of elves and men collide when a group of humans make a chance discovery in the forest of Imladris...
1. From the Minds of Babes

**Title: 'Bridges'**

**Author: freeflow**

**Rating: PG-13, possibly 15 in future instalments. (After checking for rating qualifications, I think I'll err on the side of caution and label it M, just in case I decide to get violent later on!)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own nor claim to have invented the recognisable characters or settings used in this work; they are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his estate. This is a work of fiction created for entertainment purposes only, no financial gain is being made. Any original characters are of my own design for the purposes of this story.**

**I'm not sure about the origins of some of the characters I will mention, however. After reading so many fanfics, it is hard to remember what is canon and what is fanon, so I can't state where the nicknames 'Dan and 'Ro originated from, although I read them in one of Dragon's fics first, and Nili's too. I haven't asked for permission, though, because I don't know whose they are! **

**Spoilers: None that I can foresee, but if any come up I will note them at the beginning of relevant chapters.**

**Notes: This story is set when the twin sons of Elrond Peredhil are approximately 20 years old in elven terms, making them about 6 in the eyes of men. (This may be completely incorrect, as I have no idea how elves age in comparison to men, but I wanted the twins as children and 20 seemed like a nice round number. Just go with it!) To make the scope of this tale a little larger, I have decided to include Legolas as a major character, and am making him about the twins' age.**

**A/N : Any and all quotes will be referenced in the chapter they are found in. Many will be non-Tolkien in origin, but it was a quote which sparked the idea for this tale, so I felt it to be fitting to continue in the same way that I started. **

**Any elvish in the tale will be loosely translated at best, as I do not claim to be a scholar of Sindarin, nor of Quenya. Oft used phrases and titles are most likely to appear, but anything more complex used will also have an English version in the footnotes.**

**To excuse any glaring mistakes in the tale, I have labelled it AU. It will hopefully not deviate tremendously from canon Tolkien (barring my personal writing style and any O.Cs) but I am conscious that relations between the different elven realms were actually strained during these times. This did not fit with my plotlines, and so I have brought together the elves of Mirkwood/Greenwood and Rivendell as friends, in order to again make the scope of the tale a little wider. **

**Summary: The elven city of Rivendell has been a place of peace for the last age of men. Stories of the warrior elves and past alliances have dwindled, forgotten, existing only as myth and legend. With only few humans having ever met members of the Firstborn race, men and elves live divided but content with their own kind. Yet when a group of bandits stumble across an unlikely opportunity amongst the woods of Imladris, this comfortable existence is shattered, and war between elves and men seems inevitable…**

Chapter 1 

'Elladan! Elrohir! Please, my sons, it is not even breakfast time yet. Can we at least make it to the first meal of our day without the threat of another kinslaying?'

The Hall of Fire seemed to echo at the exasperated tones of its Lord. Outside, the sun had just risen and a slight breeze drifted through the ornate archways surrounding the small family. Elrond Peredhil, ruler of Imladris, the Last Homely House and every Noldor elf present on Middle Earth inhaled the soft draught as though it was the last hope of maintaining his sanity. Glaring at the cause of his displeasure, he raised what he hoped was an intimidating eyebrow and gestured towards the table in the centre of the room.

'If there is a problem between you, then it will keep until after we have eaten. And then…' Elrond continued quickly, seeing that any pause for breath was an opportunity for argument, 'And then I will listen to you - one at a time – and we will finally put a stop to your bickering.'

At this, he swept over to where his wife was already seated, and took his place at the table. Looking at her face for some sign of support, his resolve began to fold as he saw only the laughter in her eyes and the ever so slight quirking of her lips.

_Ah, she was beautiful, his Celebrian. And wilful. And stubborn. And… _ as though she could read his thoughts, he felt her hand drop over his, and he raised his eyes to hers, only to be confronted with a knowing look that denied sole responsibility for producing children of such trouble making proportions.

_No_, sighed Elrond inwardly, _there can be no denying of my part in creating two of the most trying elflings in all of Arda._ Looking over at his twin sons, he could not suppress his small smile. Identical in almost every way, Elladan and Elrohir Peredhil were smaller versions of their father. Black hair hung poker straight to their shoulder blades and piercing grey eyes told of their Noldor heritage. Yet handsome as they were to their father's eyes, it was not their elven beauty that made him sure of their bloodlines. No, he could see that from the looks on their faces. As Glorfindel had often told him;

'A person may not recognise a Peredhil from a pumpkin, but one glimpse of that glare and even the Dark One himself would know him. It is infamous. And deadly.'

Elrond may not have believed it for himself until this moment, but unfortunately, if glaring could be deemed a family trait, it would seem that his sons had both picked up the ability.

Still standing, with their arms crossed over small chests and glaring at each other for all they were worth, the twins seemed to have come to an unspoken agreement; foregoing breakfast in order to have the last word. Or glare, as the case may be.

Celebrian, obviously deciding to take pity on her husband, turned to her children, and with a patience that Elrond envied this early in the morning, spoke.

'Elladan, Elrohir. I don't think I could eat any breakfast with the two of you so unhappy. Why don't you come sit by me and tell us what is troubling you both?'

The twins faces subconsciously twitched in an identical way as each considered the consequences of being first to back down. However, the implied idea that they were the cause of their mother being unable to eat seemed to sway each at the same time, as Celebrian's lap was suddenly filled with two small elflings each clamouring for attention.

'It was El, Amme, he said that you…'

'No I didn't Amme, it was El, _I_ said that you…'

'Elladan! I'm talking to Amme now, you have to wait your…'

'It _is_ my turn Elrohir, and Amme is listening to me, aren't…'

'Children! Children!' The voice of their father bursting out from so close behind them caused both twins to spin in fright; even though they knew the speaker and that there was no danger here, both had forgotten his presence in their rush. As a consequence, Elrohir, being closer to his father slipped from the bench he was kneeling on, crashing to the floor behind his mother. Elladan simply jumped, and gripped his mother's sleeves for fear of following his brother to the stone floor.

There was total silence and stillness in the Hall of Fire as the Lord and Lady looked at each other in surprise and then immediately turned to the nearest child.

Celebrian stroked a soft palm down her eldest child's cheek, soothing the stunned expression there. _Why would a simple loud noise scare her boisterous boy so? Especially here, sitting on his Amme's lap? He should feel safe here and…_ her thoughts drifted off as her ears registered a small hitch of breath, and then another from behind her. Elladan slowly looked down at his hand, and raising his palm and teary eyes to his parent, whispered,

'Hurts.'

At that moment, Elrond lifted Elrohir from the ground and settled back in his chair, where his youngest son immediately buried his face in his father's tunic and began to cry. Startled, Elrond looked to his wife in hope of an explanation, but met only bewildered eyes. Softly, he murmured to his child;

'Elrohir? Are you hurt? It's okay, you're safe here, you know that. Come on, tell Ada what is wrong.'

Elrond's voice had become slightly higher as he neared the end of his monologue, and distractedly wondered at the fact that, for all the battles and hardships he had seen and endured, nothing hurt him more than his children crying just one single tear. And what was worse, he, Lord Elrond, master healer and bearer of Vilya did not understand why his sons were upset. Maybe he had been a little sharp with them, but they'd had worse lectures in the past and rarely even seemed phased by his apparently 'infamous' glare.

With the wet spot on his tunic growing ever larger, Elrond tried to peel the elfling away in order to check him over. However, with surprising strength, Elrohir remained clamped to his father and pressed his face deeper in to his chest. Sighing again for what seemed to be the hundredth time that morning, Elrond left Elrohir where he was, slowly rubbing his son's back and rocking in a gentle soothing motion. Realising he could do nothing until Elrohir calmed down, he turned his attention to his other son.

He was puzzled by what he saw. Celebrian was sitting with Elladan on her lap as before, but now his back was against her, and she seemed to be checking his hand for injuries. Elrond's mind backtracked. _Elladan hadn't fallen, had he? How would he be hurt? And why were his sons so upset?_ _They were at home, safe and loved. They hadn't been in any real trouble for at least a week, and whilst that was a little odd for them, their parents were simply enjoying the peace while it lasted._ Needing answers, Elrond spoke quietly to his sons, in fear of scaring them again.

'Elladan, what is the matter? Why are you and your brother so upset? Have you hurt yourself?'

His son looked over at him with bleary eyes, making it clear to Elrond that even he did not know exactly what was wrong.

'You scared us Ada. We weren't looking and you shouted and my hand hurts, and he is still scared of the dream and when you shouted it was like that, and we thought you were them and we fell…'

Elrond jumped in, attempting to stem the flow of words and trying to make sense of all the information given to him.

'Let's see, so you had a dream last night, where someone shouted at you. And when I raised my voice, you remembered the dream and got a fright. But then why did Elrohir fall? And why were you so upset? You know it was just a dream Elladan. You and your brother are safe here.'

Celebrian tightened her arms around her son at his whispered, 'We know…' She was puzzled though, and he still held his palm upwards on his knee, as though injured. Yet she could find no gash or marring of the skin. Reaching out, she gently ran her fingers over his hand and said;

'There's nothing wrong I can find with your hand, Elladan, and you did not fall. And you have not answered your Ada's questions, ion nin. Come now, we need to know these things so we can help you and your brother.'

Elladan pushed himself back a little, as if to ensure himself of Celebrian's presence, and looked at his father.

'It wasn't my dream, it was Ro's. But I saw it too. And it was like real. Dark and with lots of voices shouting. I can't remember, but Ro can, he told me we were locked up. I said I would have picked the lock, so we couldn't have been, but Ro said I was sleeping even in all the shouting, and anyway, we didn't have a lock pick. And when we woke up, Ro was crying, but I wasn't because I couldn't really remember it all, so it wasn't scary for me. But when you shouted, I remembered, and Ro did, and we fell, and now my hand hurts.'

Elladan paused and looked down at his hand and then back at his father. 'Well, not so much anymore.'

Elrond looked at his child with a mixture of sorrow, fear and pride on his face. These were his sons, his strong boys, and they did everything together. Even, it would seem, in their sleep. Sharing nightmares was a new one for the twins, he had to admit, but it wasn't so bad. This way, they could always help each other get over their fear and pain. If ever, the Valar forbid, he or Celebrian were not here, his boys would have each other. And looking closer at Elladan, he could see now the remains of a restless night. How could he not have noticed earlier? He was supposed to be a healer, and more, a father! At least that explained the argument this morning though, well, at least to some extent. With no sleep and nightmares, anyone would be grumpy. Still, one question remained;

'Elladan, why were you and Ro arguing this morning?'

Elladan looked down and, slightly sheepishly, said;

'Ro wanted to tell you about the dream, because he was scared and he said you'd fix it.'

Elrond could tell there was more, but Elladan was being stubborn as usual.

'And?'

Now was Elladan's turn to sigh. 'And…' The elfling sat up straighter.

'And, I didn't. I said we are too old to come running after a bad dream, and that you'd think we were silly, and just babies, and then we wouldn't get to do sword practice with Glorfy, 'cause babies can't use swords.'

Celebrian smiled slightly, and kissed the top of her sons head as he settled back after his outburst. Elrond looked at her, then at Elladan and spoke softly in an effort to get his point across.

'Elladan, I know you and Ro like to practise swords with Glorfindel, and I wouldn't make you stop. If you or your brother ever have a problem or are scared, you come to me or Amme. We won't say you're babies, as everyone needs help sometimes. Even though you've got Ro and Ro's got you, sometimes, you will need your Ada and Amme too.'

Celebrian kissed her child again and added;

'And don't be in such a rush to grow up Dan. You and Ro are still elflings, and your Ada and I love you the way you are. Remember that.'

Elladan nodded slowly and smiled slightly. Then, in the way of children, looked straight at his father and announced, 'Ada, I'm hungry. This has been a tough morning, don't you think?'

At this, Elrond's face broke in to a smile and he chuckled, saying, 'Indeed it has been, Elladan. Let us eat then, shall we?'

The breakfast food, long since forgotten, was soon rediscovered by a hungry elfling and his two more sedate parents, who had not the heart to scold his table manners on this day. Elrond ate silently, one arm still holding Elrohir tucked to his chest. He had felt his youngest grow limp under his circling hand a while ago, obviously tired out from his sleepless night and early morning. _Not to mention me scaring the life out of him,_ Elrond chastised himself.

Noticing Elladan still eating with only one hand, Elrond suddenly remembered another part of Elladan's story that puzzled him. Before he could question his son however, the doors at the far end of the hall opened, and in strode Lord Glorfindel, Elrond's seneschal.

Golden hair flashing in the early morning sun, he walked to the table, and bowed.

'My Lords, Lady, I hope I find you well this fine day.'

Barely straightening up in time, Glorfindel found himself forced to catch a leaping elfling, and being immediately verbally accosted.

'Glorfy! You're here! Isn't it early? But it's alright, I've finished breakfast now. Do you want to sword fight? Aw, or are you tired from patrol? Ada said last night you might be. But you're not, are you Glorfy? Because Elrohir went back to sleep and I've got no one to play with!'

Lord Glorfindel of Gondolin, slayer of a Balrog and one who returned from the very Halls of Mandos simply stood with Elladan balanced on his hip and looked wide eyed at the elfling, at a loss for words after such an onslaught.

'Lord Glorfindel has come to join us for breakfast Elladan. And it is still too early for sword fights. You'd wake up all of Rivendell with that clanging! Now come, sit down and finish your breakfast properly.'

Glorfindel shot Celebrian a grateful look and settled down at the table, returning Elladan to his place. The seneschal then looked back towards his lord and realised the strangeness of having only one elfling to fend off.

'My Lord? Is there something wrong with Elrohir?'

Elrond smiled at the open distress on Glorfindel's face at this possibility. He silently marvelled at the power of his sons, being able to capture the heart of one of the deadliest warriors in all of Middle Earth. At the shrill cry of 'Glorfy!', an indignity which Glorfindel had come to bear with pride, the golden haired elf was theirs until they fell asleep at the end of the day. Stroking a gentle hand over Elrohir's dark hair, he replied;

'Simply a restless night combined with a little accident this morning, Glorfindel. He is fine, just worn out.'

Glorfindel nodded, appeased, and began to eat his breakfast. In the renewed hush, Elrond remembered his former trail of thought. He knew he should ask Glorfindel for a report on the previous night's patrol, but first…

'Elladan, before when I asked what was wrong, you said you both got a fright and 'we fell'.'

'Uh huh, we did.' Elladan took another piece of fruit from his plate and watched his father questioningly.

'But Elladan, you did not fall. Elrohir did, and you jumped, but you did not fall. So how did you hurt your hand?'

At this, Glorfinel straightened. 'Elladan is injured? Why is he not in the healing wing?'

Elrond looked over at his friend and instead of being annoyed at the interruption, the elven lord felt a rush of warmth at the protectiveness. He truly could not ask for a better seneschal, or more devoted guardian for his children. Celebrian spoke up in his stead.

'That is the point Glorfindel. I checked, and I could find no injury. His hand is hale and whole.'

Celebrian held up Elladan's hand, yet looked sharply in concern when her son hissed and pulled it away. Glorfindel took the elfling's hand gently and teased the fingers away from his palm, in order to have a look unhindered. The seneschal checked and found nothing, so looked at the child's face to see if he could find the truth there. Maybe, with his brother garnering so much attention from his Ada, Elladan had wanted the same, and so pretended to be hurt. Yet, that didn't ring true either. He had seen the little one's face pale and his eyes narrow at the touch to his palm, and obviously had felt some pain.

Both Celebrian and Glorfindel were at a loss, however. Disliking her feeling of helplessness, Celebrian stood Elladan up and nudged him towards his father.

'Let Ada see. Maybe he can find something. Or at least stop it hurting.'

At this, Elladan stopped dead and pulled a face. Elrond's herbal pain relief and medicines were almost as infamous as his glare. They worked wonders for all kinds of ailments, but tasted terrible. No way was Dan taking any of that stuff.

Elrond saw the hesitation and knew the cause, but put on his stern voice and called his son to him. Balancing the sleeping Elrohir on his left shoulder, however, proved somewhat difficult, as he needed both hands to check Elladan. Seeing his lord's difficulty, Glorfindel stood.

'Let me take Elrohir for a while. He seems quiet enough now, just until you've seen to Elladan.'

Elrond nodded quickly, as he had noticed Elladan edging away again, and moved to catch his tunic before he could fully escape. Glorfindel reached down and with considerable difficulty managed to detach Elrohir from Elrond.

The elfling began to whimper as his hands left the security of his Ada's arms, so Glorfindel quickly turned him around and, sitting down, settled him against his own chest. Elrohir could feel the warmth of his elfin cushion, and snuggled in again. Celebrian looked on, worried about the fretfulness of her child. She knew this nightmare was one they were going to need to talk about. Her youngest was more sensitive and empathetic than his slightly more boisterous twin, and would need more reassurance about his safety in the night.

Content that Elrohir seemed comfortable for the moment, she switched her attention back to Elrond and Elladan, smiling softly as she took in Elladan's stance. The elfling was caught between looking ready to flee and trying to suppress his interest in what his Ada was doing. Elrond, on the other hand, seemed deep in thought, his forehead drawn down in to a frown. Then Celebrian glanced down at her husband's rumpled clothing, and she blanched.

Glorfindel, who had been watching the smile play across his lady's face saw her suddenly pale, and his eyes followed as she stood and strode to Elrond's side. Glorfindel could not recall her ever having 'strode' before. She would glide over the stone floors of Rivendell with little sound at all. So, to see her movements now brought everyone's attention to her. She knelt at Elrond's chair and reached out, not to Elladan as Glorfindel expected, but to her husband. More specifically, to her husband's tunic. Elrond, still holding on to Elladan's wrist lest he should try to escape, looked down at his wife and saw what held her aghast.

'Elrohir?'

Celebrian and Elrond both stood, and instinctively, Glorfindel drew the elfling in his arms closer to him.

'What is wrong? Elrond? Celebrian? What…'

Elrond reached for the sleeping elfling and Glorfindel relinquished his hold immediately. As Elrohir was lifted up, Glorfindel saw the bloody handprint on Elrond's clothing and his face turned white.

'That's not…El…How could we not notice?'

Glorfindel's pained voice struck a chord in each elf present, but Elrond pushed his guilt aside as he settled Elrohir across his lap. Carefully lifting the elfling's hand, palm up, he held his breath as he uncurled the fingers. Ro's head twitched, and he unconsciously tried to pull his hand back.

'Ow! Ada! Stop, that hurts!'

Celebrian and Glorfindel's heads snapped round to the source of the outburst with looks of bewilderment on their faces. Engrossed in Elrohir, both had forgotten his brother, until he had spoken up. As they watched, the elfling curled his fingers up and held his hand against his chest, a pained look on his face.

Elrond spoke up, stopping his examination of his youngest for a moment.

'Can you feel that Elladan? You can feel Elrohir's cut?'

Elladan looked up at the shocked faces around him and found he didn't know the right answer. _Why was everyone looking at him like that?_ Putting his head down, he shrugged his shoulders and mumbled a soft, 'I don't know.'

Celebrian rushed to her child and pulled him in to her arms.

'Oh Elladan! I'm sorry ion nin, for not believing you. And you don't have to hide from us, remember? Just tell Ada what you can feel. That way he can help Elrohir and stop his and your hand from hurting anymore.'

Elrond watched his wife and son for a second longer and then turned his attention back to Elrohir. Peeling back the small fingers again, Elrond shuddered. The injury itself was not too bad. A deep gash ran from the base of the little finger to the base of the thumb, and the skin was scuffed from hitting the flagstones of the floor. A few stitches and a sleeping draught would heal the worst of the damage, and stave off any lingering nightmares. But Elrond couldn't help but think of the length of time he had sat here - _eating breakfast! _– whilst his son was bleeding. And his other child had told him of his pain, and still he had not thought of this eventuality.

Elrond, master healer, elven lord, member of the Firstborn race, could not hear his own children's pain. _What kind of a…_

'Elrond?'

The hushed murmur brought him back from his guilt as he saw his wife and friends' worried faces.

'He will be fine. Don't worry. A few stitches and he'll be good as new. How are you Elladan?'

At this, his son looked up at him from his mother's arms and with a quivering voice, said;

'Will the stitches hurt too?'

And Elrond, Celebrian and Glorfindel were hit by the full force of their discovery. Twin empathy. Not even Elrond and his own twin, Elros had had that deep a bond. Elven twins were rarity. Ones as identical as the Peredhils nearly unheard of. Yet, until now, they had merely been as special as every child should be to their family. No different to other elflings. But with this, a new line had been crossed.

Elrond grimaced. _Think of the advantages. One will always know if the other is in danger, or hurting, even if unconscious. They will always be safeguarded… But think of the drawbacks. They would feel double the pain; the physical and their twins' reaction to it. One could barely be treated without drugging them both first._ And then came the thought that Elrond could not push away. _If one was ever to die… what would become of the other? Would they both feel the death stroke, the pain? Could either stand it if…_

'Ada?'

Elrond's eyes snapped back in to focus, and he knelt down to his child, still holding Elrohir against his shoulder. His injured hand was resting lightly in front of him, so as to restrict its movement. This meant more blood on Elrond's tunic, but the elf lord did not even think of it. He reached out with his right hand to stroke Elladan's hair and shushed him.

'It's alright penneth nin. The stitches won't hurt. I'll put some ointment over your hand so you won't feel anything at all. And don't fret. We'll take care of everything now.'

Elrond hoped that he had managed to keep the doubt from his voice. He had no experience of this circumstance to draw upon and it scared him that it would be his sons that he would test his theory out on. It did not help either that he was almost sure that the ointment he had mentioned would simply be a placebo for Elladan, making him believe he was no longer in pain. _It may work. After all, it is not truly Elladan's pain, so if he believes the treatment will fix his hand, maybe it will be enough to eliminate it. We shall see._

Elladan looked at his father for another moment, then his eyes fell to his twin instead. Elrohir's head had slipped to the side and his forehead was pressed against his Ada's neck. Elladan reached out and touched his brother's cheek ever so softly. Then he drew his hand back and whispered conspiratorially to his father, although easily heard by both Celebrian and Glorfindel who were standing close by.

'I didn't mean will the stitches hurt me, I meant Elrohir. Because his hand hurts a lot, and he's still really sleepy from last night, and I don't think he wants to hurt anymore.'

Elrond was flooded with such pride at that moment that he could scarcely breathe. He reached out and grabbed Elladan around the waist, hefting him up too, so standing, he had a twin at either shoulder. He kissed Elrohir's hair and turned his head to do the same to Elladan, as he said;

'I am so proud of you, my sons.'

Then, he led the way out of the Hall of Fire towards the healing wing, in order to treat his sons' hurts.

As a master healer, in demand from all over the elven lands, Lord Elrond had a suitably sized and well equipped healing wing within the walls of his home. It had always served both he and his patients sufficiently, and with the other gifted healers and herbalists keeping the patients treated and comfortable, it was known as a haven for the injured. However, after the twins were born, it became clear that the wing was not enough. As with any children, they bumped and scratched their way through early infancy, always ending up in the healing wing with their normally steadfast father flitting about, disrupting the peace that had been upheld for decades.

So, it was decided much to the relief of the other healers in the wing, that the Lords Peredhil needed a separate room for healing. Whilst this may have seemed presumptuous to an outsider, it was widely regarded as a gift from the Valar when suggested, and within days an old herb room had been cleared, in order to fit the requirements. Lord Erestor, Elrond's assistant, had led all of the changes, and even added some more personal aesthetic touches than were truly necessary.

Erestor, of course, argued for these additions in light of the rooms secondary function; doubling as a children's ward should the need arise. It was true that there were not a large number of elflings in Imladris, and those who did get injured were more often treated at home than at the Last Homely House, but this reasoning allowed Erestor to decorate as he wished, and put him in a rather pleasant mood for two weeks whilst it was finished.

So it was that Elrond, Celebrian and Glorfindel were making their way through the winding corridors, with Elrond holding his twin sons close to him. Unwilling to waste any more time before treating his children, Elrond set a quick pace, which was rather startling to those elves they happened to meet. Their speed and the fact that Elrond was carrying the twins caused many to look back in concern, and Glorfindel stopped more than once to reassure onlookers of the Lordlings health.

Elladan, however, did not see the concern on their faces, and began to wriggle in his Ada's grip. After two corridors of attempting to hold him still, Elrond finally stopped dead and looked at his son with a little impatience.

'Elladan ion nin, I know you are nervous about the stitches, but I promise they will not hurt your brother. Now will you please stay still? I'd like to start treating Ro's hand before he wakes up.'

Elladan looked at his father and stilled for a minute, yet just as Elrond began to walk again, he squirmed around, whining;

'But Ada, I don't have to be carried, and everyone is looking. We are not babies, we practice swords with Glorfy and have both jumped in the Deep Pool where the willows meet…'

Elrond suddenly realised the true reason for his son's discomfort, and lowered him to the floor.

'Alright Elladan, then you may walk like Amme and Glorfy…ah, Glorfindel. But you must keep up.'

The elfling nodded his head solemnly, and Glorfindel let out a snort of laughter. _He looked so much like Elrond! Ah, these two were going to be trouble when they grew up. After all, one Elrond Peredhil was fearsome enough, but three?_

Celebrian and Elrond looked at Glorfindel in bemusement and the warrior felt his cheeks warm. Changing the subject deftly, he looked down at the elfling.

'I know you don't want to be carried Elladan, but we are some way from the healing wing yet, and your Ada still needs to hurry, faster than an elflings legs can go. So, if you like, you could ride there instead.'

Elladan's eyes lit up at this, and he almost squeaked;

'On Asfaloth? Can I? Glorfy can I? You promise? I always wanted to, but you said he was too big and…'

Glorfindel realised his mistake and dropped to one knee in front of the elfling.

'Sorry Elladan, but I didn't mean on Asfaloth. How would my horse fit through the corridors?'

Elladan's face dropped, and Glorfindel hurried on;

'And besides, what would Erestor say?'

At this, the elfling's mouth twitched in to a small smile. Taking this as a small sign of victory, Glorfindel explained his original idea.

'What I meant was, you could ride on the shoulders on one of the most fearsome warriors in all of Arda!'

Elladan's head shot up again, but instead of the excitement Glorfindel expected to see, there was a look of regret and a little doubt on the small face.

'But Ada's carrying Ro, and he can't hold me too, because Ro's hurt…'

Now it was Elrond and Celebrians' turn to laugh. Glorfindel raised an eyebrow at the two, which only succeeded in making the Lord and Lady of Imladris turn away, in order to hide their increasing mirth. Elladan was growing more confused, however, and Glorfindel hurriedly spoke before his bewilderment could transform in to anger. If there was anything the eldest Peredhil child hated, it was to be laughed at.

'Elladan, I know your Ada is a fierce warrior, but as you said, he is carrying Ro. So, would you settle for me instead?'

Now came the excitement as the elfling immediately leapt at Glorfindel, hanging from his neck. Amidst squeals of 'It tickles!' and several grunts of pain as golden hair was pulled, Elladan was eventually seated high on Glorfindels' shoulders.

'Are we set? Alright, to the healing wing!'

Glorfindel set off at a trot, and after thoroughly checking the corridor for observers, even delighted his rider with a few quiet whinnies. Elrond and Celebrian followed behind, smiling as they heard their eldest say;

'Elrohir'll be mad he missed this, won't he Glorfy?'

At this, husband and wife looked at each other and then down at their youngest, still huddled against his Ada's neck.

'Should he still be sleeping Elrond? He has not stirred since we left the Hall of Fire.'

Celebrian's voice was quiet but taut with anxiety, as she reached out to rest a hand on Elrohir's forehead.

'The fall was not serious Cel, nor is the cut to his hand. I believe he is just exhausted. Does he feel hot?'

'No, if anything, he's a little cool. His eyes are open, and he is dreaming, so I know he is not grievously injured. But he is so still Elrond. He should be running round shouting that it is his turn to ride 'Glorfy', not huddled up like he's terrified.'

Elrond maneuveured himself so he could wrap his right arm around his wife's shoulders, and pulled her close.

'I know my love, I know. He will be. He just needs to rest, that's all. After I've finished with his hand, he will. The problem is going to be keeping Elladan away from him until he wakes up.'

This drew a small smile from Celebrian as they neared the healing wing.

'Oh my love, that is easy. Have you learned nothing since the twins were born? We will simply tell Elladan to go play with Uncle Glorfy until lunchtime, and not to come back before.'

'Surely you don't believe even Glorfindel has the power to keep these two separate for so long?'

'Ah, but I have a secret weapon. If he does come back before Ro wakes up - and I mean by himself, without being jumped on – then he has to spend the rest of the afternoon inside.'

Elrond simply raised an eyebrow at his wife in response. Celebrian caught the look and laughed, a sound that warmed Elrond's heart.

'You do know what today is, don't you, my love? Elladan certainly does. Today is when Erestor begins the new catalogue for your library. And he's more than happy to conscript any idle passer by he sees.'

Elrond's eyes twinkled as he remembered the last time Erestor had begun this particular arduous task. He had enslaved forty-six elves for a total of three months, and grown more irascible with each passing day. By the end, there were murmurings of everything from mutiny to murder, and it was only Glorfindel's timely intervention that saved Erestor from being beaten black and blue with a three hundred year old manuscript.

'If Glorfy hadn't persuaded him to leave half until this time, I doubt Erestor would still be with us.'

'I don't believe Lord Glorfindel's powers of persuasion were that big a factor, Elrond. It was more likely the Dorwinion brandy that he plied poor Erestor with for over five hours that decided it. He felt the effects of that for three days afterwards, and still cannot stand the smell of it.'

Celebrian chuckled to herself as Elrond grinned. But she knew how to chase away that smile at Erestor's expense.

'And don't think I don't know whose secret stock those bottles came from, either, Peredhil.'

As predicted, Elrond's smile disappeared, and his eyes widened. His steps became slightly faster, and it was with a look of relief that he announced;

'Oh, here we are at the healing wing. Let's go on inside, shall we my dear?'

Celebrian allowed herself a brief smirk of triumph before following her husband through the door, only for it to fall away as she remembered why they were here. Bypassing the original healing wing, Elrond walked to the room at the far end, where he spent far too much time for his liking.

As soon as they entered, Elrond was struck, as always, by the amount of light in the room. All of Rivendell was constructed around nature, and open archways meant sunlight streaming in during the day and moonlight seeping through at night. Yet this room seemed to reflect every sun beam, and he knew the boys loved it. Erestor had done a fine job, fine enough for the room to be informally referred to as the 'twin's other room'. All of the healers called it thus, although they did not realise Elrond knew this. There were toys scattered over a chest of drawers, and a small practice bow leaning in one corner. Elrohir's favourite books were piled on one half of a small shelf, whilst Elladan's wooden carvings filled the remainder of the space.

Glorfindel, having obviously been 'stabled' by Elladan, was now sitting on the floor by the drawers, whilst the elfling circled him, alternately brushing his hair and patting his head.

'Good Glorfy! Now, after all that riding, you need to be brushed down, don't you? Now you sit there, and I'll go get you a treat! Stay!' Elladan punctuated this with a pointed finger at his father's seneschal, then patted him once more and ran to his mother.

'Amme, can I please go and get Glorfy a treat? He was a good horse you know!'

Celebrian smiled and nodded at her son, trying to ignore the heated glares she was receiving from his 'horse'.

'Of course Elladan, but remember to ask before you take anything.'

Elladan spun away from his Amme and seemed poised to take off running for the kitchens when he noticed Elrond taking a seat on the edge of the bed. The elfling paused, then trotted over, and leaning in close, whispered in his brother's ear.

'I'll bring something for you too, Ro, alright? Because you missed breakfast and because I wouldn't let you tell Ada and so you fell and you cried.'

Elladan seemed to wait for a response, but when none was forthcoming, his shoulders dropped a little. Then, just as suddenly, the elfling came to life again, and he stage whispered;

'I'm getting a carrot for horse-Glorfy, but I'm going to find a biscuit for me and you!'

With that, he grinned, and ran from the room without looking back at the amused faces of his parents. Fortunately he also missed the look of horror on his newly christened steed. It took only an instant from Elladan's exit for a deep growl to rumble around the room.

'I don't want to hear a word. Not one word.'

Although this set Elrond and Celebrian chuckling, the tone of the warning obviously distressed the sleeping Elrohir, as he shifted in Elrond's lap and let out a small hitched breath.

Immediately Glorfindel was on his feet, apologising to Elrond, Celebrian and even the elfling himself, but was soon shushed by the Lady of Imladris.

'It's not your fault Glorfindel. He is fretful and tired, and is just reacting to his fear from last night's dreams. Now, shall we gather the herbs to treat his hand?'

Glorfindel bowed slightly in her direction, and they moved over to the shelves to select the tools needed to sew Elrohir's wound.

Having been married to Elrond Peredhil for centuries, it took Celebrian only seconds to locate the necessary implements and carry them to her husband's side. However, knowing which herbs to use and actually sewing her own child's skin were two completely different things, and Celebrian bit her lower lip as she watched her partner thread his freshly cleaned needle. Elrond glanced up, and seeing his wife's anxiety, decided a distraction was needed.

'Celebrian, I think it would help if we gave Elrohir a numbing draught, to stop him from feeling the stitches. Could you mix one for me, my love?'

Celebrian may have been apprehensive, but she saw this diversion for what it was. Immediately she straightened.

'Elrond, I am the daughter of Celeborn and Galadriel of Lothlorien. I have helped heal and tend countless wounds and battle injuries over the centuries, and I certainly do not fear that small scratch.'

Elrond ducked his head and smiled. His wife was so proud. And stubborn. His sons may have his glare, but the stubbornness was all Celebrian's. So, he used his secret weapon.

'I know that Cel, but none of those wounds were on your child.'

Celebrian resumed biting her lip and gazed at her son's sleeping face. Elrond spoke quietly.

'The pain killer is not so much for Ro anyway my love, but for Dan. I don't think Ro will wake up before I finish, but Elladan will probably feel every stitch. I don't want him to if I can help it.'

Celebrian's head came up, and her eyes flashed, showing her irritation at Elrond's emotional blackmail. But she understood him too, and so reached out, stroking Elrohir's hair before whispering to her son.

'I'll be back soon, ion nin, and Ada is here. You're safe Ro, those dreams can't hurt you here. Be brave little one.'

Then she looked up at Elrond with tears in her eyes, slowly drew her hand away, and was gone.

Blinking away the moisture in his own eyes, Elrond quickly stood, and gently handed Elrohir to Glorfindel, who had been standing protectively behind his Lord.

'Elrond?'

'I know Glorfindel, she'll be angry, but it will be easier on everyone if I do this before she comes back. Now could you hold Ro in your lap? Yes, like that. He may become restless when I begin, so hold on to him.'

Glorfindel settled himself against the head board and wrapped his arms around his precious burden.

'What about Elladan? Won't he feel it like before?'

Elrond smiled suddenly, and, gathering up his tools, sat down next to Elrohir's head, across from his friend.

'I put some numbing ointment on Ro's hand as soon as we got here. It should have worked by now. Thank you for the distraction, by the way. With yours and Elladan's horse act, I doubt if Celebrian saw me.'

Glorfindel sighed and lightly rested his cheek on the elfling's head.

'I'm never going to hear the end of this. But be warned Peredhil. If I walk to weapons training one day and find an apple left out for me, or if Erestor 'mistakenly' announces me as Lord Horsindel at the next feast, I'll know where to look in order to exact my revenge.'

Elrond let out a short laugh, and concentrating, snipped off the excess thread.

'There, all finished.'

Glorfindel's eyes widened in surprise.

'Finished? I didn't know you'd started!'

Elrond raised that infamous eyebrow and looked quizzically at his friend.

'It seemed that Celebrian was not the only one who needed distracting, _Uncle Glorfy_.'

Glorfindel looked slightly sheepish, but soon broke in to a broad smile as he realised he was being watched. He looked down to meet Elrohir's gaze.

'Well met, little one. And how are you feeling, Lord Elrohir?'

Elrond looked up from wrapping his son's hand at this, and quickly finished his work, shuffling backwards to speak with his son.

'Elrohir? Are you alright, my child? Do you know where you are? You cut your hand at breakfast, but now it's all better…'

Elrond's voice dwindled to a halt as Celebrian re-entered the room with a bowl and a cup.

Placing them on the nearby table, she sat next to Glorfindel on the bed, and simply looked at her child. Elrohir's eyes had been wandering the ceiling and the faces above him rather sluggishly, but when they met his mother's, his face seemed to crumple, and he reached out to her.

Celebrian drew her child in to her arms, rubbing his back and murmuring soothing words. He soon quieted, and she could feel him growing heavy again, so before he could sleep, she pulled back a little and faced him.

'Elrohir, why are you crying, my love? Surely you are not afraid anymore, are you? Why, Ada and Glorfy are here, and Amme has got you. Tell us what is wrong, ion nin.'

The elfling blinked slowly and deliberately, and said in a tiny voice;

'I don't feel good.'

Celebrian looked at Elrond in alarm, even as her husband leaned in to feel his son's forehead with a frown marring his face. Glorfindel stood anxiously, having tactfully retreated to the doorway to watch for a certain absent elfling.

'Hmm, a little cool and clammy. Probably a bit of shock from both exhaustion then the fright in the Hall of Fire. Not to mention that cut on your hand. You've had quite the morning, little one.'

Elrond spoke softly to his son, yet simultaneously informing the rest of the room of his diagnosis. Brushing some dark hair away from his child's tired face, he proceeded to stand and pick up the cup Celebrian had brought.

Sniffing it, Elrond cocked his head to the side and looked in puzzlement at his wife.

'Cel, this isn't a painkiller. You used a different herb. This would put him to sleep.'

Celebrian never looked away from her child, but stated calmly and rather smugly;

'I know, Dear. I thought after you'd completed the stitches and wrapping it would be best if Elrohir slept some more. And after all, why would he need a painkiller when you'd already applied the ointment to the cut?'

Elrond gaped, and Glorfindel choked.

'Now,' she continued smoothly, 'If you would pass that bowl I think a good wash then bed is just what this little one needs.'

Elrond passed the bowl in silence and watched as his wife dipped a cloth in the lightly scented water, and proceeded to rinse away the tear tracks on Elrohir's cheeks.

The elfling sighed at the touch of the warm water and leaned heavily against his Amme's shoulder.

'Ro, before you sleep you should drink something, penneth. You've had a fright, and this will make you feel better.'

Elrond leaned over with the cup and supported his child's head while he sipped, trying to suppress a smile at the grimace Elrohir mustered at the taste, even half asleep.

After half the cup was gone, Elrohir simply turned his face away, pressed it in to his Amme, and fell asleep.

'It would seem he has had enough,' Glorfindel quipped, as he collected the bowl and cup, and moved to the doorway. 'Now I know he will be alright, I will take my leave. When Elladan returns, send him to the stables if he is too rowdy. Tell him we can play horses again.'

The golden haired elf smiled, bowed to his Lord and Lady and swiftly exited.

Alone in the room, Elrond and Celebrian sat side by side on the bed. Elrohir had managed to squirm so that his head lay on his Ada's shoulder but his body draped over his Amme. His good hand was twisted in the front of Celebrian's dress, and was surely destroying the delicate fabric there, but neither moved to change it.

Sighing, Celebrian let her head fall to her husband's shoulder as Elrond turned and kissed her hair, resting his lips there. Both drifted serenely toward sleep until suddenly, the bed rocked. Two sets of eyes blinked and widened, and Elrohir grasped the dress tighter in response to the movement.

Sitting on the bed watching the three, sat Elladan. In one hand, he held half a carrot. In the other, a slice of apple. He had a suspicious amount of crumbs on the lower part of his face, and Elrond was eyeing the bulge in his tunic with the ware withal of a father.

'What are you doing?'

Elrond smiled at the open curiosity.

'Resting my eyes. It's been a tough morning, you know.'

Celebrian's eyes crinkled with mirth, and she returned her head to Elrond's shoulder to watch her eldest.

'Oh, I know Ada. With bad dreams, then we fell, then Glorfy was a horse and all I could get was half a carrot! But I did get a biscuit for Ro, though.'

Realisation dawned on Elrond.

'Is that what is down your tunic, ion nin?'

Elladan glanced down and suddenly grinned before dropping the carrot and apple slice to the bedspread. Reaching down his top, he withdrew three biscuits, and crawled slowly up to his parents, being careful not to wake Elrohir.

'I brought breakfast,' Elladan whispered.

'That was very thoughtful Elladan. Now, if you like, Glorfindel said you could spend the morning in the stables with he and Asfaloth.'

Elladan looked down at his biscuits and then up at his parents. Softly, he placed one on Elrond's lap, then another on Celebrian's. He snapped the third one in two and gave one half to his Amme.

'Can you keep this for Ro, Amme? He'll be hungry later.'

Celebrian smiled and put the half on the bedside table.

Elrond patted the bed beside him, and Elladan crawled over and into his Ada's encircling arm.

'So are you going to play horses with Glorfy then Dan? Ro won't be up to playing until later on and you'll have to be quiet if you stay here.'

Elladan peered over at his twin, then shook his head.

'No, Ada, I think I'll stay here. I'm going to eat my biscuit, then maybe have a nap too. But not a baby nap. Just because I was awake some of last night.'

Elrond took a bite of his biscuit and nodded, sagely.

'I think Amme and I will do the same.'

'I think Amme already is.'

Elrond looked to see his son was quite right. Celebrian's eyes were glazed in sleep, resting on his shoulder, and the sound of her's and Elrohir's gentle breathing was like a balm after the hectic morning.

'I think you're right, Elladan.'

Glancing down, Lord Elrond realised that he was the only one still awake, and he smiled to himself. Resting his cheek on Celebrian's hair, he began to drift off, only to feel Elladan begin twitching under his arm. He waited to see if it was a dream, and if it would pass, but if anything, it grew worse. And, he noticed, his son was not asleep anymore either.

Finally, he could stand it no longer.

Without looking, he asked quietly;

'Elladan, what are you doing?'

A moment of silence, then a loudly whispered reply.

'Scratching.'

Elrond took a breath.

'Scratching what, Elladan?'

'My itches!'

Elrond conceded that it _had_ been a stupid question. He waited for another moment and felt the wiggling stop.

Then he heard a tentative voice.

'Ada?'

'Hmm?'

'You know how you yelled, and Elrohir fell, and he got cut and cried, and you asked me why he was sad, and I said because I didn't let him tell you about the dream and he was scared, and then you said it was alright to ask for help because everyone needs it sometimes?'

'Hmm.'

'Ada?'

'Yes Elladan.'

'Will you help me?'

Elrond suddenly paid astute attention, and looking down at his son's pained expression, felt a rush of concern.

'What is it Elladan? Does your hand hurt again? Are you scared to sleep in case of nightmares? Are you…'

'Ada?'

Elrond stopped his questions and looked deep in to the small face so like his own.

'Yes Elladan?'

'I've got biscuit crumbs up my tunic.'


	2. Crossing Paths

**Title: 'Bridges'**

**Author: freeflow**

**Rating: M**

**Disclaimer, A/N, Summary: See Chapter 1**

**For Kalisona, who wasn't above poking me to get her way! Thanks.**

Chapter 2

Deep in the woods of Rivendell, on one of the scarce used and over grown paths leading from Greenwood the Great, the birds grew silent.

The wind whipped the leaves in fluttery circles over the dirt of the elven track, but the sounds of the ever present wild life had ceased. Yet there was no feeling of foreboding, it was simply as if flora and fauna alike were holding their breath, and were watching a truly special event.

And for the nature on this path, it was probable. For on this day, the King of Mirkwood and his company would ride through, on their way to a conference to be held at Imladris. This in itself was a rarity, but to use this little known path was an even stranger choice, as it held none of the well worn certainty of the main trails. Yet this was what Thranduil Oropherion desired; a walk in the wilderness, a chance to enjoy the lands of Arda as he had not in countless years.

_Not since she left,_ he mused, as he heeled his horse to a trot. Being ruler of the Silvan elves was an honour which he was humbled to accept, yet it had been his loyalty and sense of responsibility that had stopped him from sailing with his beloved wife to the West, to live in peace with her and the remainder of their kindred.

Thranduil sighed. This would not do. He had made his decision, and knew it to be the correct one, for now at least. And even if he felt lonely or dispirited at any time, the last gift from his wife was more than enough to make him feel whole again.

Smiling softly to himself, Thranduil twisted on his horse's back in order to talk to his gift, his youngest child, Legolas. So like his mother in beauty and grace, the elfling had nevertheless inherited his father's free spirit and strength, and was a joy both to look upon and know. Of course, in his father's eyes, he would be - until his mischievous streak once again led him in to trouble.

And so it was with another sigh, this time of resignation, and a surge of concern that he realised he had failed to spot the blond hair of his child.

'Company, halt!'

Thranduil's barked order was heeded immediately by the consort of twelve warriors accompanying their King. As one, they all dismounted and, some with small smiles and others muttering wagers, they filtered in to the forest in search of their small Prince.

'Legolas! Legolas Greenleaf, come back here at once!'

'Prince Legolas! Prince Legolas? Your father requires your presence, little one!'

'Your Highness? Are you here? Please, his Majesty wishes to continue on our journey.'

Thranduil stayed on his horse and waited, smiling in slight disbelief at the skill of his child; this was the third time today that Legolas had managed to disappear, eluding twelve of his best warriors and their considerable tracking abilities. He was going to be trouble in a few years, if he could be this efficient at this age. And, if Thranduil was honest, Legolas wasn't even trying. He kept wandering off to explore; when he had spotted a new kind of bird, he had been gone for so long that the King had almost sent back to Mirkwood for extra search parties.

Even through his worry he couldn't help but laugh at his son's garbled explanation when they'd finally caught up with him.

'_Ada! Did you see it? A bird, it was yellow Ada! I didn't know birds came in yellow. Red, and stripes of blue, and maybe even orange sometimes, but this one was yellow. Are all Lord Elrond's birds yellow? I wish we had yellow birds. Can we get one, to keep at home? I could probably train one, Ada, if you help me catch it. I bet Elladan and Elrohir have seen lots of yellow birds. They'll think I'm strange not having seen one before. Oh, they won't will they Ada? Think I'm strange? Because I've seen a lot of things that they probably haven't. Like, like, well I don't know, but surely they haven't seen everything!' _

Thranduil shook himself from his reverie as he realised that the forest around him had become unnaturally silent. His warriors could be heard in the distance calling for his wayward child, yet that was all the King could pick out. He strained, over the slight breeze, over the shaking of the leaves, over the… shaking of the leaves? Thranduil's head snapped around just as a green blur dropped from the tree above, to land unceremoniously on his upper chest. In hindsight, Thranduil would later be thankful to the Valar themselves for making his attacker so stealthy, for in another second he would have driven his knife straight through its chest.

Luckily, both for Thranduil and the future of the Silvan monarchy, he was a little too slow, and as it was, both prey and predator fell from the horse to the dusty ground below.

Of course, at this, four blades were levelled at Thranduil's assailant, and the unwavering metal seemed to shriek in anger at the intrusive attack. Within a heart beat, the swords were joined by multiple arrow tips, as the two were suddenly surrounded by eight long bow wielding elves, each waiting for the command that would end this threat.

However, when it came, the message was not as expected, nor was it intended for them.

'I got you Ada! Did you hear me coming? I was practicing prowling, like you showed me. And it worked! So now can I go out on patrol with the others? I can do it, just like that!'

At this outburst, each of the elves relaxed their stance, two or three even reddened at their threatening posture. Naturally, they still could not see him, as he remained hidden under Thranduil's body, but every elf in the contingent knew that voice, that boundless enthusiasm.

As they had hit the dirt, the King had recognised his foe, and the danger his child was in, and so threw himself between Legolas and the tips of eight Silvan arrow heads. It was only now his fear began to reside enough for him to speak.

'Legolas! What on Arda are you doing? You could have been killed! We thought you were an enemy, ambushing me like that. And how many times do I have to say it, stay on your horse! These woods are dangerous, and I will not lose you simply because you grow too tired of following the rules.'

Thranduil finally rolled away, pulling himself to his feet and hauling Legolas up to perch on his hip. Looking properly chastised, the young Prince hung his head, sorry for upsetting his father. The King looked down at his elfling in an imposing fashion, hoping this would finally force home the importance of 'listening to Ada', a lesson belaboured but scarcely realised in the Oropherion household.

_Ha, it did not work the last forty times, why in Manwë's name would it on this occasion? No, just admit it Thranduil, the child is of your blood. Mischievous, stubborn, beguiling_ -here Thranduil paused to study his son, the corners of his mouth twitching to a small smile, quickly hidden again under a mask of displeasure_ - and utterly irrepressible._

Legolas' long blond hair was neatly braided behind his ears, and he was dressed in the green tunic and hooded cape that he liked to wear whilst in the forest. Rather old and even threadbare in places, Thranduil knew that his own mother would have apoplexy if she could see her grandson, but the elfling had declared them to be 'my most comfortable, hideable, bendable clothes. And they're green. I like green.' At this, the King was swayed, and the clothes had stayed.

The blond on deep green was a stark contrast, yet the most stunning part of the ensemble was not a garment of any kind. Thranduil placed a finger under his son's chin and raised his face so he could see in to the bluest eyes in all of Middle Earth. _Just like his mother's_, he mused silently. He then realised that those pools of colour were in fact brimming with unshed tears.

Despite being mischievous, Legolas could not stand to see anyone sad or worried, and now he had hurt his Ada. Thranduil recognised this immediately and wrapped his arms around his boy. The guards had grown sombre as they realised that Thranduil was not happy, and were industriously trying to look enthralled by their surroundings.

'Legolas, just promise me you'll stay with the company until we have reached the borders of Rivendell. It ought to be safe there, and you can explore to your heart's content within the confines of Elrond's lands.'

The Prince's face cleared a little at the underlying forgiveness in this statement, but was still not completely back to his normal self. Having been a father for over four centuries and knowing how to appease a disquieted child, the King utilised his expertise. He created a distraction.

'And Legolas? No, you are too young to patrol. Not until you are older, and you can look after yourself.'

Immediately the blue eyes flashed. Thranduil silently congratulated himself.

'But Ada! I'm not too young, I can shoot, and run. And I can prowl. You saw me prowl. Well, you didn't, but that's because I was doing it right! So, Ada…'

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As the sun began to sink lower in the violet sky, Thranduil called the procession to a halt.

'We will make camp here for the night, and build flets for anyone who would rather be off the ground.'

Turning to the child at his side, he smiled, and dismounted. Then, reaching up, he grasped Legolas' waist and, in one swift movement, threw him up in the air. A shriek of laughter filled the small clearing and several guards looked on with smiles as the King of Mirkwood caught the elfling and once more sat him on his hip.

Breathless, Legolas was tightly holding the front of his Ada's tunic in an effort to stay upright.

'So young one, you kept your promise to stay with the party, and did not once wander off. I think it's time for a reward.'

Thranduil realised at that moment that even if he lived for another thousand years – as he was wont to do – he could never grow tired of making his son's eyes light up as they just had.

'Really Ada? What is it? Did you bring your pipe? Are you going to play for us? Oh, I know! We can stay up extra late, and none of us have to go to bed tonight! That's it, isn't it Ada?!'

The King laughed out loud at his son's enthusiasm and gently pressed a finger on the overactive lips.

'Shh, peace Legolas. And no, that is not what I had in mind, as we are all up early tomorrow in order to reach Imladris on time. And another thing my son. This reward is not for everyone like you suggested, although I'm sure the others appreciate your generosity.'

At this, several faces dropped in order to hide smiles and rolling eyes from elves who had no wish to stay up all night, having spent numerous hours hunting for a certain Silvan Prince.

'Just for me Ada? What is it? Is it from home? Did you bring a new book for us to read tonight? Oh, it's cake isn't it! What kind? I really like…'

'Hush child! Slow down and I will tell you in time. Now go and wash in the stream before we eat, and then the surprise.'

With a tiny whoop of anticipation, the blond elfling leapt from his Ada's arms and ran off towards the small stream running along the west side of the camp. Thranduil watched his son scamper away before shaking his head and chuckling again.

'Young ones. What energy they have. Make me feel old!'

Yet as the Silvan King walked back to his horse to collect supplies for Legolas' surprise, he also found himself thinking, 'but he keeps me so very young, too.'

Packing their meal in to a small parcel, Thranduil barely had time to straighten up again before he detected the pattering of small booted feet. Tensing just in time, he was able to weather the landing of his youngest child once more pouncing on him.

'Are you ready Ada? I washed up, and even fixed the end of this braid that had come loose. I did it right, didn't I Ada? I think I did, but it's hard to tell because it hangs upside down from where I'm standing.'

Legolas took a breath and looked hard at the braid in question, holding it close to his face to inspect it. Thranduil hid a smile as his child concentrated so much that his eyes began to cross, then placed a light hand on the blond head.

'It's fine, my son, just like Ammë used to do. Now, are you ready for your surprise?'

Bouncing as much as possible whilst being held, Legolas dropped the forgotten braid and beamed.

'Now? Can we go now?'

Thranduil raised an eyebrow and smiled slightly.

'How do you know we are _going_ anywhere?'

'Because you packed up the food and I haven't eaten yet. And because you pulled out _that_ cloak, that I don't even need, but I'm going to have to wear it.'

At this subdued complaint, Thranduil laughed again. The cloak had been a matter of contention for some time now in the royal household. Ornate and heavy, it was approved of by Thranduil's tailor and friend, Erianth. '_It will keep the Prince warm in the bleak winter frosts. And it carries all of the prestige a royal elfling _should_ carry. It denotes wealth and nobility, and I finished it personally.'_ Of course, it was highly impractical for a child whose favourite pastime was to climb trees and wander amongst the flora of his home. Yet, Thranduil had to admit, the light blue certainly did suit his son's delicate form and glowing features. This was not a fact that he had told his child, however, and so he had settled for a favourite reason of his. _'You will wear it because I said so, and I am your Ada.'_ And so, the cloak had stayed.

For three days.

Then it began disappearing.

The first time, the cook had found it behind the stock of wine barrels in the cellar. Legolas had no idea how it had got there. The next occasion had the cloak hanging from the tiles on the roof, overlooking the stables. Although Thranduil imagined Legolas had actually been wearing it that time, he decided that not knowing exactly how the item had become caught on the edge of a roof with a twenty foot drop beneath it was better for his own state of mind. His son was not visibly marked, so on that occasion, the King followed the adage 'ignorance is bliss'.

Still, the cloak returned.

Again and again it appeared in strange locations only for its owner to deny all knowledge of how it came to be there.

'_The ferrets must have taken it. To build a nest. Or maybe Halbeneth needed a new table cloth? It is a nice colour for the dining hall I think. But Ada, you know what I think the real problem is? I think the cloak doesn't like me.'_

At this, bemused, the King had asked Legolas on his reasoning for such a statement.

'_Isn't it obvious Ada? The cloak keeps running away.'_

With that, the elfling had let out a giggle and ran out to the gardens for the rest of the afternoon, leaving the King of Mirkwood and most of his senior advisors at a loss for words. But everyone there had worn a smile for the remainder of the day.

Thranduil let out a laugh at the memory and placed his son back on the ground.

'Now Legolas, it is cold and wet out here at night, and we won't be near the fire to stay warm.'

He wrapped the cloak around small shoulders and tied the neck with the thin ribbon sewn in to the material. Smoothing it down over his son's arms, he looked in to Legolas' eyes and smiled, trying to regain the enthusiasm that seemed to have dissipated along with the reappearance of the dreaded garment.

'But elves don't even get cold,' came the mumbled response.

'But you are not a fully grown elf yet, little one, and you know you still get cold. And why ruin your surprise by being uncomfortable? You don't want to have to stop in the middle of what we're doing to run round a tree three times, trying to get warm, do you?'

At this, Thranduil was rewarded with that smile, and the elfling's head came up.

'No Ada, I don't want to spoil it. What is it though? Where are we going if we aren't staying by the fire? Can we go now?'

'Yes my green leaf. You are dressed and I am packed. Let us just say goodbye, and we will go.'

Legolas reached his hand up and grabbed his father's, swinging merrily on his arm as they walked up to the captain of Thranduil's personal guard, a dark haired elf named Nerometh.

'Captain, you have charge of the camp. Legolas and I will be back later on, but won't be going far. Have everyone settle in for the night, and post a two guard watch in three shifts.'

Here Thranduil paused, clapped his companion on the arm and winked.

'And don't drink too much Dorwinion, Nero. Our supply is getting a little low and I don't want to chance running out before I can challenge Lord Elrond to a small drinking competition.'

At this Nerometh laughed and half bowed.

'Yes Sire, I will take good care of the camp and the wine. Though not necessarily in that order.'

The two elves smiled openly and the captain raised one fist to his heart, saluting his King. Then he watched as father and son turned and wandered out in to the trees.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When the moon had arrived at its apex that night, it seemed to one small elfling that its brightest rays shone only for him. Him, and his Ada.

Thranduil had led his son a short distance from the main camp, touching the bark and branches sheltering their path with a soft hand. Upon reaching out to a solid oak, he stopped and smiled down at his youngest.

'We are here, little one. This is the place for a reward, and this grand oak tree has agreed to help us.'

The King did not tell Legolas that each tree along the way had asked to be the one included in this gift; he knew that it was always a pleasure for them to hold any of the Firstborn within their boughs. He had thanked each for their kindly offer, but continued on as he sought out a tree tall and strong enough to support two elves amidst its topmost branches.

Even so, those he had politely refused did not seem saddened. No tree could ever begrudge an elf anything, and as Thranduil listened, under the light breeze, he could hear sighs of wistful pleasure. These trees rarely saw the light of the elves, and would treasure this evening in their evergreen memories.

The blond elf bent to kneel before his child and smiled at the awestruck look on the small face.

'He is big, isn't he Ada? But not scary. He's happy to see us!'

'He certainly is, little leaf. Now, we are going to climb to the top of this mighty oak. Would you like me to help you?'

Again Thranduil laughed, but this time at the affronted look flashed his way.

'I can do it Ada. I can go that high. And the tree will help me if I get stuck, won't you?'

At this, the elfling stroked his palm down the tree's bark, and the King felt a pulse of promise from the oak.

'Alright then little one, but be careful.'

Legolas let out an excited yelp, then leapt in to the bottom most leaves, quickly disappearing from Thranduil's sight.

'By the Valar, he has more energy than Anor itself.'

Following his child, Thranduil began his climb. As he ascended, dancing from the thick lower boughs to the more flexible higher branches, he smiled to hear Legolas' chatter, and his son occasionally thanking the tree for some unseen assistance.

_Aye, he is a true wood-elf, my little leaf. He feels the trees and the forest as though he were flora himself, and treats them as he would any living creature. I wonder sometimes whether he truly needs the company of others, so attuned is he to the natural world. _

This thought drew Thranduil up short, and he halted to take a breath. Long ago had he realised that eventually all his children would grow up and away from a child's dependencies. Legolas' siblings were each accomplished elves, succeeding in archery, hunting, healing and craft making, to name but a few of their skills. Yet as the future of the monarchy in a land threatened by shadow, he was often saddened by the speed at which they had been forced to acquire these abilities. Necessary it may have been, but Thranduil would still admit, he missed having children around him.

As his youngest, Legolas had been, to an extent, sheltered from the harsher aspects of life under Mirkwood's ever darkening sky. After the loss of his wife, Thranduil had become more aware of the encroaching black, and threw himself in to his child's life, soaking up every innocent remark, every nuance of simple goodness that his son exuded. And there was a lot of it. The last prince of the Oropherion line, Legolas seemed to encapsulate all that Greenwood the Great had ever stood for. He shone from the moment he was born, and his light engulfed those around him. So at the thought of Legolas moving away from him, of his last child leaving the Royal Household behind, Thranduil's very being recoiled.

_Not for some years yet, my son. Not for some years, if I can help it._

Nodding at his silent assertion, Thranduil resumed his climb, following the chirping from above him. Legolas may be his last child, but he would enjoy every moment of that childhood, so long as it lasted. Starting tonight.

'Ada! We can see all the forest from here! Come on, you have to see, I found the best place to sit!'

'Alright Legolas, I am here. You are too fast for your old Ada to keep up! Now where is your seat? Is it strong enough for both of us?'

'Yes Ada, the tree helped me to choose. Is this the reward? To see the whole forest?'

'It is part of it. But I thought that, if you'd like to, we could stay until the stars come out, and eat up here with the oak and the stars for dinner guests.'

'Really? A night with the stars and the trees! Oh thank you Ada! And it will be just for you and me, and no one else!'

Thranduil chuckled and drew his child on to his lap.

'Yes little one, just you and I, and the stars to gaze upon. Oh, and something else…'

His eyes twinkled as he reached in to the pouch on his back, and withdrew a wrapped package. Handing it to Legolas, he leaned back against the trunk of the tree in order to see the reaction this extra present garnered.

He wasn't disappointed.

'Ada! I knew it! I knew before we set off that you would have brought some, because they may not make it in Imladris, and we would have to have a special supply just in case Lord Elrond doesn't know how to make it right!'

Laughing this time at the thought of the Lord of Rivendell elbows deep in cooking ingredients, Thranduil hugged his child closer.

'Well, a reward would not be a reward without some of Sarion's famous honey cake, now would it? And maybe, when we get to Imladris, you can offer to show Lord Elrond how to make it just right.'

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

At the moon's zenith that night, Thranduil son of Oropher returned to his impromptu home, weary but content. Stepping in to the circle of firelight near the centre of camp, he was met once more by his captain, Nerometh.

'May I assume the Prince enjoyed his surprise, my Lord?'

Thranduil smiled softly as his free hand continued rubbing the back of his youngest child.

'He lasted far longer than I had anticipated, Nero. But not even the mighty Legolas of Mirkwood could keep his eyes open after a day of mischief followed by a night of excitement! Still,' he paused, waiting as the elfling took a deeper breath, then settled back in to his dreams, 'I hope this night will be one he can hold on to.'

Nerometh nodded in comprehension. He too had older siblings, and well understood that it was often those times when he had had his parents all to himself that were foremost engraved in his memories. And being the King's son certainly did not make for an abundance of nights like tonight.

'I am certain he will treasure every moment, Sire.'

Brushing errant blond hairs away from the child's face, the King hefted the small, boneless form higher on to his shoulder. After centuries of parenting, he had correctly assessed the depth of his son's slumber, and Legolas did not so much as stir at the movement. He turned his attention back to his friend.

'What of things here, Nero? Has all been quiet this night?'

'It would seem that these old roads still serve us well my Lord, and shelter us from any _pressing_ dangers.'

Thranduil's eyes narrowed. He had heard the underlying message in the statement and simultaneously understood the reason for the subversion. Asleep the youngest royal child may be, but Nerometh was ever vigilant of the security of his Liege and the heirs to the Mirkwood throne. On this occasion, that consideration even extended to protecting the Prince from the fears and threats that the rest of the company were aware of.

The King gave a curt nod of acknowledgement, but did not ask for an explanation. There was time for that in a while; Nero was not so single-minded in his shielding of Legolas that he would risk the rest of the company to do so.

'Has a place been arranged for us for the night Nero? I believe we won't hear from this little one until the sun is clear overhead.'

'Certainly, my Lord. If you will follow me, we set out a pallet near the fire for Legolas. It would be a simple matter to arrange the same for you, should you so desire. I did not set it up earlier in case you…were not intending to rest tonight.'

_So the problem is not pressing, but it is serious enough for us to consider moving out before dawn… Interesting…_

The two elves moved silently towards the main fire and Thranduil circled around its flickering reach to the low bed set up on the far side. Drawing back the sheet with his free hand, Thranduil sat on the side of the bed, holding his child for a few moments more. Warmed by the flames and comforted by Legolas' slight breaths on the side of his face, the King closed his eyes.

Unwilling to disturb his Lord, Nerometh had withdrawn to the nearby tree line. However, when the leaves overhead began to whisper against the slight breeze, he cleared his throat, and took a step forward.

'Your Majesty, we must speak. Perhaps I could call one of my warriors to see to the Prince?'

Thranduil's eyes snapped open at once, and he nodded. But before Nero could call out to the nearest elf, the King stood and began to tuck in the elfling himself.

After a moment, he pulled the sheet up to the child's chin and stroked his hair. Then, with a look of determination, strode to Nero's side.

Slightly puzzled by the sternness on the King's face, Nerometh took a step back. Had he done something to warrant that look? He had interrupted, certainly, but surely the King understood that there was a pressing matter to take care of, and…

'My Father did not often tuck me in. My child will not go to bed feeling alone.'

This muttered assertion cleared Nero's mind of confusion, and he bowed his head in response. What was probably a private thought had slipped out, but he understood the determination now. King Thranduil may have a realm to govern, but not to the detriment of his children. Nero smiled inwardly. _A fine king indeed…_

'My Lord, when we sent out scouts earlier, they reported nothing dangerous in the vicinity. However, they did find some tracks, little more than a few hours old. They were heading away from us, yet we cannot be too careful on these old paths.'

Thranduil cocked his head to one side, his brow furrowed.

'Tracks? What creature could produce tracks that would still be cause for concern hours after they had passed by? Most animals will have travelled a considerable distance in that time, Nero, and you already said that they were moving away from us.'

'Yes my Lord, they were. But these creatures are not as predictable as others we have hunted or studied. These tracks were made by a group of _adan_, Sire. Human tracks.'

Thranduil's face clouded.

'Humans? What would humans be doing here in the great forests of the elves? Do they not know of the borders? Humans and elves have not mixed in centuries, and neither side has had any difficulties maintaining that distance in the past.'

Nero shook his head.

'I know not, Sire. Yet there is still a decision to be made. We know that humans are unpredictable creatures, and we are not certain of this group's intentions. The trees whisper of unease at the presence of these creatures, and I am inclined to heed their caution. They may be simply passing through, or they may be a hunting party of some description. For whichever reason, I do not think it wise to linger here longer than necessary.'

The King was slowly processing this information, and the possible outcomes of running across a group of humans this far from the main paths. _Too many unknowns, too many possibilities._ He glanced over at the elfling lying asleep by the fire. _Too many risks…_

As soon as he straightened up, Nerometh knew that his Lord had made the decision.

'Nero, rouse the company. Inform them of our situation, and break camp. We leave in an hour. We ride slow but steady, straight for Imladris. I had intended to take a more scenic route, mainly for Legolas' sake, but if we press on tonight, we can make the Last Homely House by daybreak.'

Nero inclined his head and raised fist to heart.

'Yes Sire.'

As his Captain left to carry out his orders, Thranduil wandered back to Legolas' side, sitting once more.

_Humans. Little do I think on humans, my child. They are so small a part of my world that I had almost forgotten they existed. Strange that so large a race can fade to near obscurity in my thoughts, yet you, little one, can loom so large…_

The king paused in his thoughts as he watched a flicker of a frown pass over the porcelain features before him. He raised his hand to the small cheek, his own face mirroring the expression there. Stroking with his thumb, Thranduil tried to soothe the look of anxiety away.

_Bad dreams? Not unheard of, but not common in elves. What do you see, little leaf? And why does it pain you so?_

The King sighed as that flawless visage once more softened, and his child slept untroubled. _Never do I wish to see that look on my son's face. Not when I can do nothing to heal it._

His ponderings were interrupted by the arrival of Nero and another of his warriors.

'My Lord, are you ready? The camp is almost finished, and we need to dismantle the Prince's pallet.'

'Of course Nero. Just let me ready my horse, and I will…'

'If you'll excuse the interruption Sire, but your horse is ready. And the young one's is also prepared to leave. Although I do not think he will be riding tonight.'

Thranduil smiled gratefully at his Captain. He had not been looking forward to getting up. Not that he was overly fatigued, or that he was not willing to do his share of the work, it was… well, he could not bring himself to leave his child. Not even for the short time it would take to throw a blanket over his mount and return. Maybe it was the unknown of humans so close, or maybe the whisperings of the trees, but…

'Thank you, Nerometh. We will be waiting with the horses.'

Both Nerometh and his warrior raised fist to heart in acknowledgement and respect as their King rose, and then leaned to lift Legolas once more. As he turned to walk away, Nero laid a soft hand on Thranduil's arm, and the dark haired elf smiled as he pulled the hated blue cloak round to cover the sleeping child. Nodding his head once more in thanks, Father and son left the light of the main fire to return to their mounts.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As word spread that the party was once more ready to move on, Thranduil turned his horse to face the company and raised a hand for silence.

'I realise that we are all more than ready for a rest, and that having to move under cover of darkness was not expected on this journey. However, you all know of the situation we have found ourselves in. My decision to move on was not made lightly, and I accept that it may be more dangerous – especially for the horses – to travel by night,' at this, he gave the side of his own mount's neck a firm rub of gratitude, and watched with fondness as many of his warriors unconsciously repeated the affectionate gesture with their own steed, 'yet there are too many risks for me to willingly remain here.'

This time, his own gesture was unconscious, but every elf present looked on with understanding and love as the King brushed back a blond braid from his sleeping child's face.

'We make for Imladris, my warriors. By daybreak, we shall be enjoying the hospitality of Lord Elrond and the Lady Celebrian. Ride steady and safe. Move out!'

At this command, the procession responded with a unanimous raising of fists to chest height, and the simultaneous clicking of horses hooves as the company began their journey anew. The usual cheer of response to a speech from their King had been muted due to the unknown proximity of the group of humans, but the feelings such camaraderie created was still present and appreciated under the mantle of the dark, heavy night.

At the head of the group, Thranduil held Legolas side ways across his front, wrapped completely in his cloak. However, at the commencement of riding, even exhausted as he was, the elfling began to stir. The King watched silently as his son blinked three times, then yawned widely. Although he looked awake, Thranduil could tell that this would not last for long. The eyelids were too heavy, the movements too sluggish. Still, even semi awake, Legolas was curious.

'S'ya riding for, Ada?'

Laughing gently, the blond haired elf pulled the small form closer. Nero, just off to one side, had been watching the two to make sure Thranduil would not have any problems if his horse suddenly stepped in a pot hole or was startled by some form of night life. Now he reached over and once more pulled the cloak up to the elfling's chin.

'We are moving on, little leaf. We wish to reach Imladris earlier than planned. Now go back to sleep.'

Legolas seemed to absorb this, and closed his eyes as he burrowed his face in to his father's tunic. Then, just as both Thranduil and Nero thought he had drifted back off to sleep, the elfling began to wriggle.

'Legolas, what are you doing? Stay still child, you'll fall off.'

However, the elfling was not listening, or was still too lethargic to process this order. And to make things worse, he was beginning to panic. He knew his Ada had hold of him, he knew he was on a horse, but why couldn't he move? He wanted his arms, he wanted them free so he could, so he could…

Still pressing his face tight to his father's chest, Legolas stopped struggling and fell limp, worn out. But far from being an improvement, both Thranduil and Nero were dismayed to hear small mewling sounds issuing from the tiny body. Without him even needing to ask, Thranduil's horse stopped dead, and swung its head round to glare unceremoniously at the two elves. At any other time, the King would have been highly amused at the fact that his horse seemed to be chastising him for mistreating his own child. Yet, he was so upset to see his child crying that he barely noticed the animal.

Pulling Legolas away from his front, he began rocking, softly murmuring to the elfling in the hope of calming him down enough to explain what was wrong.

'Shh little one, shh. Ada is here, with Nerometh and all the other warriors. We are here little leaf and you are safe. Come now, tell Ada what troubles you, child.'

It was only upon looking down at the tear streaked face that Thranduil realised that his son was not truly awake. Half shut eyes and deep breathing showed Legolas to be on the edge of elven dreams, mid way between waking and sleeping. He would get no answer until the child awoke fully, but he did not want to continue whilst his child was so upset.

Suddenly, he felt a hand at his shoulder.

'I believe I know the problem, Sire.'

At this, Nero reached past Thranduil and unfastened the cloak, quickly pulling it away from the elfling's arms. As soon as the cloak was pulled loose, Legolas shot upright, only saved from falling by his father's quick reflexes, his eyes opened fully.

Wild and unfocused, the pools of blue Thranduil had so admired earlier were now filled with tears, and as his child realised where he was and who gripped him so tightly, they began to overflow. Twisting so his legs straddled the horse instead of sitting sideways, the child threw himself forwards in to his father's chest and held on as though they had not seen each other for days.

Taken aback by this uncharacteristic behaviour, Thranduil simply sat still, holding the elfling close and waiting for the sobs to subside.

The rest of the company had by now caught up to their King, and each elf sat, still on horseback, facing Thranduil in a semi circle. No one spoke, as each realised the tenuousness of the situation. No one understood the reason for Legolas' outburst, but they recognised a child terrified beyond all reason, and were suspicious enough of the territory to fear for their King and smallest Prince. They waited with their monarch for the child to calm, and, as compassionate as the elven race is, shared the sadness leaking from the sobs of one of their brightest.

Nerometh, on the other hand, was not so willing to sit and wait. Dismounting, he moved alongside his King's horse and reached up to lay a hand on the slowly relaxing back of the elfling. Looking over the child's head, he met Thranduil's eyes.

'Sire, do you know what may have caused this upset? We have come across no threats, and the Prince has been happy to the best of my knowledge.'

Thranduil nodded in response, and the elfling gripped tighter at the movement, as though fearful that his father would disappear.

'He has been happy Nero, have you ever known him to be melancholy? My little leaf is the brightest of us all, and never have I seen him so upset.'

'Maybe that is it Sire. Surely he is a bright elfling, but brought out in to the darkness of the forest, with the encroaching black from the East, he may have been affected by it.'

'It is a fair idea, Nero, but he has been in the forest before. Nay, it is something more. Still, I do not think that we will be finding any answers tonight.'

Remaining fastened to his father's tunic, Legolas had once more grown sleepy. Even under the watchful eye of twelve Mirkwood guards, he could not feel self-conscious. In the morning, he might be embarrassed, but right now, all he wanted was to sleep. And his Ada. That reminded him.

'Don't go away Ada. You're warm. Don't go.'

And even as his father shot him an alarmed look, the elfling drifted back in to elven dreams.

Thranduil looked to his Captain, and was slightly reassured by the steady gaze he received. Nerometh too had heard the elfling's whispered request, and had no idea what could have prompted it, but he was nothing if not pragmatic.

Stepping forward once more, he retrieved the cloak that had been discarded from across the horse's neck, placing it over Legolas' back. Fastening the ties and tucking the sides between the Prince and his father, he brushed a hand over the back of the half-hidden head, and then remounted his horse in one swift, silent movement. Gesturing once with his left hand, his warriors fell back in to their positions.

Urging his horse to fall in beside Thranduil's, he met his King's eyes and then determinedly looked to their path. But as only Thranduil heard his muttered assertion, he was not certain whether it was meant to reassure him, or if the dark haired elf was trying to convince himself.

'It was only a dream. Be still, little one. It was only a dream.'


	3. Arrival at Dawn

**Title: 'Bridges'**

**Author: freeflow**

**Rating: M (I have been told that this rating may be putting some readers off. Up until now, there has been nothing but mild angst and a teensy bit of blood in the first chapter, nothing to merit an M rating. But I have heard of stories being removed for having an incorrect rating, and I am intending to have a little bit of bloodshed in later chapters, so decided better safe than sorry. But give it a try for yourself, and please tell me what you think!)**

**Disclaimer, A/N, Summary: See Chapter 1**

Chapter 3

Thranduil knew that he was being watched. He'd known for the last hundred hoof beats, but was not worried. If anything - and although he would not readily admit it - he was glad. Now, under the watchful eyes of numerous Noldor sentries, his company were nearing their destination, and no doubt Elrond had already been informed of their imminent arrival.

He was, however, a little regretful that they were to enter Imladris under the murk of twilight. The sun was still some way from rising, and he would have liked to have travelled the road to Rivendell in the sunshine again, after all these years. Whilst it paled in comparison to the grandeur of his underground palace, the Last Homely House was nevertheless a vision of elven architecture and elegance.

Shifting the light bundle still attached to his front, the King slowed his horse slightly. The great bridge over the Bruinen was in sight, and he knew his party would appreciate some time to order themselves; to don cloaks with the mark of the House of Oropher emblazoned over the breast, to shake the dust from their boots and rebraid loosened hair.

'Sire? Can I take the little one while you see to your needs?'

The hushed query did not take Thranduil by surprise. Nerometh had been riding by his side since Legolas had fallen asleep again, and had not taken his eyes from the child in that time. It unnerved him slightly, that his captain was worried enough to stay that close, but at the same time, he knew it was unwarranted. His son was fast asleep, and would not wake until the sun had fully risen. Even if he did not know what had upset the little Prince earlier, he had been a father for long enough to predict the depth of any of his children's slumber.

'Thank you, Nero. I would not like to arrive at Lord Elrond's home looking as though I have not rested nor eaten in days. What would our Noldor cousins think of us then!'

Passing the elfling to his first in command, Thranduil smiled as his intuition proved correct. The blond head flopped on to Nerometh's shoulder, and the small rosy lips trembled with a deep sigh as Legolas slid further in to elven dreams.

'Are you going to wake him in time to meet the Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrian, Sire?'

The King paused in his ministrations and glanced up at his still mounted officer.

'No, I think not Nero. He is tired, and has had a busy night. He was looking forward to arriving, but I would rather he was well rested before he meets our hosts. And besides, the main reason he was so excited was due to his seeing the two young heirs of Imladris. His brothers told him many stories of the twins' escapades after their last visit, and he has not stopped talking about them since. But even such mischievous elflings as they would not be up and about at this hour, surely!'

Nerometh smiled softly but did not argue.

'We shall see Sire. We shall see.'

The air hung violet and silver over the steps of Imladris as its Lord and Lady waited for their guests to arrive. Dressed in similar pale green robes, the royal couple had been informed of Thranduil's coming by a scout signal from the outer reaches of the forest.

'Do you sense foreboding, my love? It is unlike Thranduil to arrive before the expected time. He was to have camped in the forest 'til the morn, but to be at our gates at this hour the company must have ridden through the night.'

Elrond placed a calming hand on his wife's arm and bowed his head in thought. Reaching out through Vilya, threading his consciousness through the breeze, the Lord of Imladris floated for a moment. Slowly, he ordered the feelings he could gather, and opened his eyes once more.

'It would seem that something is amiss, my Lady, but the King does not seem too perturbed by it. And our smallest visitor appears to have slept right through it.'

Smiling to themselves, and leaning a little closer, the couple's minds turned towards the Mirkwood Prince.

'It will be an… interesting time, I think, Cel. The twins are bound to love him, if he is anything like his brothers.'

'And I had heard that he does not have a great number of friends his own age in the Palace. There simply have not been enough elflings born for either he or the twins to have the camaraderie that we knew in our youth, Elrond. It will be good for them to grow together for a time, to learn about friendship and loyalty to those outside of our family. They only have their kin to imitate in these matters, and I worry sometimes that they are not experiencing all that I would wish them to.' Celebrian stilled for a moment, watching down the path for their visitors. Then she added, 'And that includes Glorfindel.'

Elrond raised an eyebrow and drew back to look at his wife's face.

'You do not think Glorfindel shows these qualities? I did not realise you felt this way, if anything- '

'Oh hush Elrond, you know better than that. I did not say that Glorfindel does not show these traits. And I meant that he may as well be family, so does not count.'

Her husband's face cleared immediately, and he took a breath. He could not help but smile though. Celebrian sounded so like her mother when she was chastising someone; regal and calm, but with an undertone of disdain that made the victim ultimately wish they had not spoken to begin with. _Unfortunately_, he thought, _I know that tone better than I'd like to…_

Both elves turned their full attention to the sound of oncoming hoof beats, and flowed as one down the steps to the courtyard. For a formal greeting ceremony, the Lord and Lady of Imladris would have remained at the head of the stairs and waited for the guests to come to them, but it was still not daylight, and only the King's party and a few Noldor sentries were in attendance. There was no call for pomp and splendour here, and they knew that Thranduil would not begrudge them their more urbane approach.

As the lead horse drew to a standstill, sharply followed by a slightly leaner black mare, all eyes were drawn to the King of Mirkwood. And although Thranduil himself presented a striking figure atop his white horse, almost white hair shimmering in the glow of dusk, it was the smaller figure that most were watching.

Imladris had been visited by Mirkwood royalty in the not too distant past, and all had been impressed by the grace and bearing of Thranduil's two eldest sons. Both dark haired like their mother, and far more reserved than their father, the Crown Price Erutur and his younger sibling Prince Corintur had shown themselves to be fine young elves. Many had had reservations before their arrival, knowing that the heirs to any throne, never mind that of Greenwood the Great, could often be difficult. And, if many were honest, the stories of Thranduil's early days as King were enough to instil every elf in Rivendell with a large portion of wariness.

However, almost immediately upon arrival, the two had ingratiated themselves with their Noldor hosts, albeit under slightly unusual circumstances…

A Year Previously

_The dark haired elven warriors slowed their horses and dismounted, allowing their steeds to be led away with a nod to the stable master and his assistant._

_So far, so good, thought Elrond as he watched the pair from the top of the steps. Still, he cautioned himself, engrained civility does not an enjoyable visit make…_

_Pushing his worries aside, he ordered a smile to his otherwise benign visage, and welcomed his guests._

'_Welcome to Imladris, your Highnesses. I would hope that your stay here will be a pleasant one. I apologise for my Lady's absence, but there was an…incident, this morning and her presence was required elsewhere. But please, follow me to the Hall of Fire where we will break our fast together. If that is acceptable?'_

_The brothers looked at each other and then back at the elf Lord before them. Elrond did not know these Sindar elves at all, this being their first meeting, and so could not tell for certain what that look had meant. But, if he had to guess, he would have said that these young ones were slightly worried._

_The older of the two, Erutur began to speak hurriedly when he realised that Elrond had caught their quick exchange._

'_We would enjoy that very well my Lord, and we thank you for your kind greeting…'_

_The pause was taut with indecision, and Elrond was beginning to grow nervous. Or as nervous as an elf-lord in his own stronghold, surrounded by an army of skilled fighters willing to jump at his very word would be. He signalled for the Prince to continue._

'_Well my Lord, it is your Lady wife. If she has been involved in an accident of sorts, you must surely go to her. We would not wish you to attend us simply for etiquettes sake, if you would rather be elsewhere.'_

_This hurried speech took Elrond a moment to decipher, but his face slowly broke in to a now-genuine smile. These young elves had only lost their mother a few years ago, and even if they were to someday meet again in Valinor, that absence was evident in both anxious faces. Turning to his guests, he clasped Erutur's hand._

'_I thank you for your concern, and its sincerity does both you and your father credit, but,' and here he chuckled slightly, 'I would far rather be with you this morn than wherever my dear wife is.'_

_The two younger elves looked more puzzled than before, and Elrond, relenting, had decided to explain himself when suddenly, a steak of purple shot past them, leaving a smeared violet stripe across both Prince's cloaks. The three stood rigid, staring after the purple bolt as they heard the patter of more feet coming swiftly towards them. As one, their heads twitched from one direction to the other, and tensed all the more. By now though, the Lord of Imladris had realised what the initial intrusion had been, and was almost waiting for the next. This time however, he was to be prepared. Pulling a plain tapestry from the wall behind him, he crouched down just in time to catch a pink wriggling mass inside the cloths many folds, and he immediately stood, drawing the bundle to his chest._

_It took a few moments of indignant squeaks and breathless giggles before a decidedly familiar face popped out from the top, and two pink arms were wrapped around the elf Lord's neck. Elrond shook his head as he let the giggles subside, and turned back to his guests, still staring at the spectacle before them._

'_My apologies, Prince Erutur, Prince Corintur. It would appear that you have met my sons before expected. Or fleetingly, at least. Elladan? These are our guests from Mirkwood, King Thranduil's sons. What do you say?'_

_The pink face hovering atop the now stained tapestry twisted in thought for a moment, and then smiled broadly in pride._

'_Welcome to Rivendell, I'm Elladan but I like 'Dan instead. Are you coming for breakfast? I can show you where the Hall of Fire is. Can I Ada? I'll show them, I'll be their guide!'_

_Not exactly the words he had coached his eldest to intone, but hospitable nonetheless. Elrond smiled at the elfling before him. _

'_If the Princes would like that, ion nin, then you may. But I would like you to take a bath first little one. Your Ammë would not appreciate pink footprints in the Hall of Fire, and neither would Erestor, now, would he?'_

_The elfling shook his head furiously, but was only half listening. He had already turned his attention back to his new acquaintances, and once more spoke up._

'_Would you? Would you like it if I took you? Ada could, I suppose, but I know the best way…'_

'_Ah ah ah, no Elladan, the Princes do not want to crawl anywhere or visit the roof first. They have been on a long journey and are hungry. Straight to the Hall. Nowhere else until after breakfast,' Elrond jumped in again quickly as he saw the glint reappear in the elfling's eye, 'and after the bath too.' _

_Once more the trio were distracted by footsteps coming in their direction, and had to step back quickly to avoid a collision with a wild eyed elf. Skidding to a halt, and simultaneously spotting the elfling safely wrapped in his father's arms, the dark braids over each of the pointed ears whipped forwards and then back, in a physical portrayal of his relief and palpable irritation._

'_Elladan! You are supposed to be in your room, waiting for your bath. And just where is your brother? He has crept away too, no doubt. You little ones will be the end of me, I have no qualms about that! And what are you giggling about, you scamp? You have to be ready in time for-'_

_Now Elrond cleared his throat. _

'_Erestor, I have the pleasure of introducing you to King Thranduil's sons, Princes Erutur and Corintur. And they have already 'met' the twins.'_

_The two Mirkwood elves were then treated to a rare sight in Rivendell - Lord Elrond's chief advisor completely speechless._

_Luckily, Elladan was not._

'_S'alright, 'Restor. I'm going to show them where the Hall of Fire is, so you can go find Ro.' Then he turned to his guests. 'He's purple, you know.'_

_It had been such a bewildering introduction to life at the Last Homely House that neither Prince had been able to formulate a full sentence. Still, heirs to a kingdom or not, no elf could be expected to stay stony faced with such open hilarity running amok. So, both brothers reacted as they would have at home, if it had been Legolas running about dyed an offensive colour. They laughed. Both they and Lord Elrond, and soon Elladan broke out in great guffaws and carried on until tears ran down their faces and Elrond struggled to hold himself and his eldest upright._

_Erestor, however, did not seem impressed. Flicking back his hair once more, he threw an annoyed bow in the Princes' direction and then marched of after his missing purple charge, mumbling;_

'_Half-elves and Sindar, both as impossible as each other…' _

_Of course, everyone present heard him and only laughed harder because of it. After Elladan rubbed his face with a pink fist, however, all the elves present began to calm._

_Elrond pulled the hand away from his son's eyes._

'_You'll get berry juice in them, little one. And as irascible as Erestor can be, he is right. It's off to a bath for you. But you can show the way first, just as I promised.'_

_Letting the bundle slide to the floor, and folding the tapestry over his arm, the Princes got their first look at the heir to Imladris. Or one half of them, at least. Pink from head to toe, the elfling had obsidian black hair and his father's striking features, but softened with youth and a gentle purity which no doubt came from his mother's side. The beauty of the Lady Galadriel's only daughter was well known throughout all elvish realms, and even without seeing Celebrian, both Thranduilion recognised the inherent fairness that her son possessed as an obvious link to both Ladies of Lothlorien. _

_However, these realisations were mostly subconscious; when both would think back on this, their first meeting with the twins - as they retold the story for their little brother months later - they would realise that in fact, the first thought that crossed their minds was simply, 'how does an elfling turn such a bright shade of pink?'_

_They soon discovered however, that Elladan was quite happy to inform them of his recent adventures, and so did not have to wonder for long._

'_I'll show you to the Hall, because I haven't had breakfast yet either, and neither has Ro. But everything was such fun that we didn't have time, and anyway, I'm sure some of the berry juice got in my mouth when we fell in the barrels, so that made up for it a little. It wasn't very fair though, because I fell in those horrid red berries that Ammë likes, but Ro fell in the blackberries, so he turned a nice purple, AND got to eat blackberries, but I'm a girly pink and didn't even get a single one to eat.'_

_Both Princes were following along behind the elfling quite obediently by this time, and Elrond – although feeling quite guilty for admitting it, even to himself – was glad that this possibly strained meal was already progressing so well. _

_Erutur, however, had another question._

'_Elladan, why were you and your brother near the barrels so early in the morning? Corin and I have barely just arrived, and we thought that you and your brother would have just gotten out of bed.'_

_Laughing quietly at the naivety of young elves and their ideas on childhood behaviour, Elrond nevertheless silently applauded Erutur's attempts to bond with his child. Yes, he thought, I am beginning to like these young Princes already._

'_Oh, we were hunting. That's what big elves do you know, they hunt for things.'_

_Silence. And then;_

'_But what could you and Elrohir possibly be hunting over the top of barrels filled with berries?'_

_Now Elladan pulled one of his newest tricks out of his bag, and put on the look that Celebrian had named 'the Ada'. Looking disapprovingly on his newest friend, the elfling stopped and faced both newcomers as though he had something very serious to impart. Then, taking a deep breath and sighing as though he had stumbled across the silliest elves in all Arda, he answered._

'_We were searching for _berries_, of course.'_

_And oblivious to the twitches on the faces of those adults surrounding him, he frowned again and looked back to Erutur._

'_And I don't like Elladan. It takes too long to say. And,' here he took a step away from his father and whispered very loudly, 'I get called that when I'm in trouble.'_

_Both Princes smiled at this, and Corintur kneeled down to Elladans height to look him straight in the eye. _

'_Well, we shall make a deal with you, Dan. If we can call you by your preferred name, you must call us by ours. I am Corintur, but prefer Corin from my friends. And Erutur here,' he nodded towards his brother 'is more often than not called Aran.'_

_Now not only Elladan was confused, but also Lord Elrond. Aran? Where did that come from, he wondered. But again, it was not for long._

'_Why? Does he only get called Erutur when he's been misbehaving too?'_

_At this, the younger Prince laughed out loud, and turned mirth filled eyes to his older sibling._

'_I do not believe that I have heard him rebuked for many a year now, little one, but if he ever does get in to mischief, I am sure that my Ada would use his full name too.'_

_Taking a step forward, the topic of their discussion felt that he had been pondered about quite enough for one day, and joined his brother in front of their guide._

'_I use Erutur in court and when I meet friends for the first time, Dan, but prefer Aran when I am with my family or those I know. Do you not think it suits me better?'_

_The elfling was becoming more and more attached to his guests as the moments passed and nodded his head fervently. First they let him be their guide, then they kneel and speak just to him, and now they ask his opinion on something as important as a Prince's name! Normally Ada's guests just came and ignored him and Ro, or were angry about them being 'underfoot' all of the time. They were hardly ever really underfoot, but that one time that silly dwarf had walked right in on their game, and it wasn't their fault that he didn't understand how to play 'snakes in the long grass'. And it wasn't as though he had had far to fall, being so short and round…_

_So, it soon became clear to both Elladan and his highly observant father that the Princes were going to become a favourite around the Last Homely House. And the elfling was going to make sure that they knew it, mainly by agreeing with everything they had to say._

'_Yes, I like it, it's more like a warriors name. And because you're a warrior, it is just right. So, Aran, Corin, can we go to breakfast now? Because I'm still hungry, and I think my arms are getting stiff from the pinkness.'_

_Both Princes chuckled, and Elladan grabbed Corintur's hand, dragging him off towards the Hall._

'_Keep up Aran, or we'll eat your share!'_

_Smiling to his host, the Crown Prince of Mirkwood rose to his feet and inclined his head slightly._

'_My Lord, I hope I have not just exacerbated an already…strange situation. I merely hoped to allow the little one to become acquainted with my brother and I, before we invade his home.'_

_Lord Elrond smiled back, overjoyed that his worries about these particular guests had been unfounded._

'_No, your Highness, I thank you for your patience with my rather gregarious offspring. And believe when I say, this is not at all a 'strange situation', as you put it. Unfortunately, since the twins were born, it has become a common occurrence. Not the multicoloured elflings, thank the Valar, but more often than not some kind of mischief arises just as we are about to greet guests. And usually, the twins are not welcomed by the people who come to visit. No, I think you may well have just made a friend for life in Elladan, and that means one in Elrohir too, once somebody catches him.'_

_Both elves were content to carry on towards the Hall following the sounds of Elladan's garbled stories to his captured guest, and his victims amused responses. Still, it was not long until Elrond himself displayed some of the curiosity that the twins so often employed._

'_What you said to Elladan, Erutur, is it true? Or did you create that name just to make him relate to you? For if not, I cannot understand why I have been given incorrect information, and still more cannot think of why you would choose such a name.'_

_Here the younger elf blushed slightly and smiled rather sheepishly._

'_Truly my Lord, my story was real. And your information was quite correct. To all who have known me since birth, I am Crown Prince Erutur of Greenwood the Great, first and eldest child of Thranduil Oropherion. However, my parents did not choose my name, instead allowing my grandfather on my mothers side that 'honour'. As my father's Sire had long since been slain, it fell to my remaining grandparent left in Middle Earth to choose. Proud of course of his daughter and her marriage, and of his first grandchild, he chose Erutur, meaning 'God and Ruler', and deciding it fit for a future King, both my parents accepted. Not long after, he left for the West, and sailed knowing that he had left his grandson bearing the name he chose, for all to know and honour.'_

_Elrond nodded slowly, enjoying this glance in to the oft closed history of Thranduil's family life. Erutur sighed and shook his head, knowing that the embarrassing part was to come. But for all the times he had relayed this story, he was never more hesitant than he was now, explaining his name to one of the greatest elf-lords this side of Valinor._

'_Still, as fine as the name is, and however much my parents valued my grandfather's choice, it did not sit well with me. I found it unwieldy and pompous, and often felt that it forced a barrier between my comrades and I. I know, all who knew me knew my status and position, but I did not appreciate the way that even my name seemed to advertise it so shamelessly.'_

_Elrond smiled at the humility of this young elf, and suddenly found himself questioning the Prince's parentage. Surely Thranduil was never this humble? Surely this elf had nothing of his father's blood! He immediately chastised himself and clamped down on a laugh. Of course he is Thranduil's. He walks and moves just like him, and the eyes are unmistakeable. And, he was sure, if he challenged this young elf on any point, those eyes would flash in just the same way!_

'_Certainly I can understand those feelings, Erutur, but why Aran? Surely that is no improvement if you wished to disguise your station.'_

'_I realise it seems strange my Lord, but there is a reason. I myself did not choose the name, in fact, I did not have the courage to propose changing it. I knew how much my mother loved her father, and I would not have dreamed of casting aspersions over his choice. However, when I was an elfling, and for a good many years afterwards, my father had a pet name for me. 'Aranince', he would say, in front of whoever was present, 'come show me what is required in the Kingdom today', and we would go and sit in his chambers, and draw pictures and tell stories until I fell asleep. Everyone knew that he did no work when I was there, but no one commented. Even if they had dared I doubt they would have interrupted, for they could see how much pleasure he garnered from escaping his duties for a while. I know I enjoyed it.'_

_Here the Prince trailed off, smiling to himself, and Elrond continued in silence, letting the young one remember times past._

'_Still, if I had chosen a name, it would not likely have been that one. As you mentioned, my Lord, it is still rather blatant, not to mention childish, and before long I felt I had outgrown it.' Now he sighed in a more agitated manner._

_There, that was a Thranduil sigh! triumphed Elrond in his mind._

'_Of course, by that time, I was no longer an only child. Corintur was old enough to recognise my irritation whenever he used it, and he quickly taught our younger sister too. And you can probably guess the rest. They called me Aranince as often as they could, but it soon became shortened to just Aran, when they became too lazy to insult me fully. Still, it could be worse. There are things far more horrendous than being a King, I suppose.'_

_Now Elrond laughed aloud, and was pleased to see his guest was joining in._

'_I suppose you are right, Aran, I suppose you are right. Now that my curiosity is satisfied, and we have arrived at our destination, would you care to dine with me and _my _'little Lord'? He is slightly miscoloured at the moment, but he is mine nevertheless. And maybe, if Erestor has been quick enough, we will be joined by his purple counterpart before the meal is over.'_

'_I would be honoured, my Lord Elrond. It will certainly be a new experience, as although I often dine with an elfling, I have never sat at a table with multicoloured ones before. However do you keep from laughing out loud every time they come up with something like this morning's escapade?'_

_Elrond just shook his head as they swept in to the massive dining room and towards the laden table, complete with two discoloured elflings, a smiling Prince and a dark haired scowling advisor who never took his eyes from the source of his ire. Each taking a seat, both looked around and took in the surroundings before Elrond sighed once more._

'_I cannot laugh, Aran, because I know if I start, I would never stop. And a hysterical Lord is almost as much use as trying to keep these two out of trouble. No use, no use at all.'_

_And just as he heard the swish of his wife's robes in the main corridor, he noticed the pink and purple footprints that danced glaringly on the once clean stone floor._

Present Day

After Aran and Corins visit, the inhabitants of Rivendell were far more at ease with the idea of another Thranduilion coming to stay. In fact, most elves were curious to see the youngest Prince.

His brothers had spoken of him often, and even relating stories of their time together had brought an extra light to their eyes. It had been obvious to all that Prince Legolas was a treasure to both his family and realm, rivalling even Thranduil's vast fortune.

So it was when the King swung down from his horse, the eyes of most Noldor present swept with him, waiting for the first glimpse of the elfling he held close to his chest.

Of course, the Lord and Lady were not so impatient, and did not stare at the child, but instead set to greeting their old friend.

'Your Highness, it is a pleasure to welcome you once again to our home. Long has it been since the King of Mirkwood has dwelt within our walls, and we are honoured that you would travel so far to stay with us.'

Thranduil smiled back at his hosts, and bowed his head.

'Surely, the honour is mine. But I thank you for your welcome. Now, if we are done with the formalities, I believe that this has been long overdue…' And so saying, he reached out to Celebrian with one arm and embraced her tightly.

Most of the Noldor present - if any had been watching them and not the King- seemed taken aback at this casual show of affection. From all they had heard, Thranduil had not always been on good terms with Lord Elrond, and therefore, many had assumed, with his wife either. Yet here he was, drawing her close immediately upon arrival, as though they were old friends. Curious…

Still, Elrond was not surprised. He was well aware that his wife had grown up with Thranduil's wife, and he himself, in fact, had spent many weeks consoling Celebrian when she had learned of her old friend's decision to sail.

Celebrian returned the hug with the grace of her people, and whispered in to her friend's ear, 'I miss her too, Thranduil, with all my heart.'

Ducking his head at the emotions that washed through him with that statement, the King blinked rapidly. Taking a breath, he straightened, and releasing her from his hold, he gave a shaky smile.

'Then surely you would like to meet her last gift to Middle Earth. This is Legolas, our green leaf, and his mother's joy. It was for him and only him that she lingered as long as she did on Arda, and on her leaving, my realm cried not just for the loss of their Queen, but also for the loss of this little one's mother. Yet he has her spirit, her grace, and all that know him remember my Ataralasse.'

Now it was Celebrian's turn to choke back a sob. Even so, she reached out to pull the cloak away from the child's face, gasping when she caught sight of the blond hair, the relaxed features.

'By the Valar, Thranduil, he is beautiful! He has her nose, her mouth, oh, she would be so proud!'

'She was - she is, I know. And her eyes too, Cel, he has eyes of such blue that sometimes I cannot bear to look away, lest I lose her all over again.'

Both stood gazing at each other, sharing their grief anew until Elrond took a step forward to see the elfling for himself. Laying a soft hand on the mussed hair, he could feel the heavy sleep that held the elfling.

'He has had a disturbed night, Thranduil. Would you like to take him straight to your chambers? I do not believe he will wake for a few more hours yet. And hopefully, the twins will not either.'

Now Thranduil gave a small chuckle and inclined his head.

'Ah, the twin terrors of Imladris. Both Legolas and myself are eager to meet the elflings who caused my sons such troubles when they stayed with you! Never have I heard such stories as the ones they told us upon their return. And it was soon afterwards that we had the pleasure of Legolas' red hands for a week. I hope you know that I have had to seal all barrels in my cellar due to the tales of your children's escapades!'

Elrond grinned at this, and his wife gave a small laugh, covered by one graceful hand.

'Well I am glad that it is not just this house that suffers from unruly elflings. And I always suspected that the twins' mischief was contagious. It seems we have unwittingly unleashed an epidemic upon Middle Earth, my Lady!'

All three began to laugh, and as one moved towards the steps. Shadowed by his second in command, Thranduil could feel the familiar presence at his back and stopped to gesture to his friend.

'This, my Lord and Lady, is my Captain, Nerometh. I should dislike to be the cause of further disruption to your household, but I would request a room near ours for him, if at all possible. He will be insufferable otherwise!'

The elf in question immediately looked affronted, but as he saw the three elves begin to smile at each other, he relaxed and nodded in agreement.

'Aye, my Lord, Lady. It would put my mind greatly at ease if I could be situated near my King and the Prince for the remainder of this visit.'

Both hosts were understanding of this seeming insecurity on Nerometh's part, but were well accustomed to the overreacting of Captains and Seneschals alike. And even more so, when Thranduil added;

'And Legolas often seeks out Nero when he cannot sleep and I am not available. Which, unfortunately, happens far more often than I would like.'

'Of course, there are rooms either side of your own which are left empty for that sole purpose. Place whomever you like there, Thranduil, and do not feel we will be offended. We know the duties of the guards well, and would not stand in the way of Legolas' comfort.'

Thranduil and Nerometh both relaxed at this statement, and the group continued up the steps.

And both began to laugh softly as they heard a muttered, 'He is no where near as bad as Glorfindel,' from Elrond.

The Lord then signalled to one of his sentries to show Thranduil's company to their quarters, and the courtyard slowly emptied of both elves and horses.

And in the furthest corner, from the depths of a hanging willow tree, two sets of grey eyes followed the King and his child, as they reached the top of the stairway and entered the warmth of their new dwelling. The eyes turned to each other, looked back once, and then, with a matching glint in each pair, faded back to disappear in the green of the leaves.


	4. Sneaking and Surprises

**Title: 'Bridges'**

**Author: freeflow**

**Rating: M**

**Disclaimer, A/N, Summary: See Chapter 1**

Chapter 4

Celebrian watched with a sad smile as Thranduil stroked his youngest son's hair away from his forehead, and bent to kiss it softly. Moving away from the door, both she and her husband allowed the King to pass, and then pulled the heavy oak slowly towards them. Not willing to completely enclose the child in an unknown setting, they left it slightly ajar, but the heavy oak would not blow open with the light breezes that flowed through the Last Homely House's corridors.

'Now, how would you care for some breakfast, Your Highness? I am sure Erestor already has a fine spread awaiting us in the Hall of Fire.'

'Elrond, I would be happy to accept your invitation, but only if you promise to call me Thranduil from now on. Whilst here, I am just a friend, not the ruler of an elven realm. I have enough with the bowing and scraping at home.' He stopped and a thoughtful look crossed his face. 'Of course, that does not apply if there is only one honey cake left at the table. Then you must fulfil your duty as host, and offer it to the King of Mirkwood, else I shall look upon it as a huge slight.'

The three laughed and moved away from the bedroom, with the King only glancing back once before rounding the corner.

In the next moment, there was a scuffling sound from the far end of the passageway, and a hiss.

Then followed the concentrated silence of those trying to be stealthy, and the tiny creak of the door being pushed open. Slowly it closed again, this time to fall shut with a click as the handle snapped home.

As Legolas lay still under the light covers, he did not hear the giggles from the end of his bed, nor see the two dark heads ducking under the quilt hanging from the footboard. He did, however, feel the jolt as one of the heads moved too fast and slapped in to the wood. And so, he was awake enough to hear the ensuing argument too.

'Ow! Dan, I told you not to push! I was going as fast as I could!'

'Well it was too slow, Ro, and it hardly hurt anyway, so stop complaining. We have'ta stay quiet or he'll wake up.'

There was a pause.

'But don't we want him to wake up yet? I thought that's what we came to do, so we can meet him without Ada and Ammë watching and making us be boring.'

Legolas began to smile as he suddenly blinked away the last vestiges of sleep and realised just who 'Dan and Ro' were. With extra stealth and trying desperately to hold in his giggles, the blond elfling scooted round under the quilt, and began to crawl down towards the foot of the bed.

'Yeah, we want to wake him up, but it'll be more fun if we surprise him. Aran said Legolas likes surprises, so we're gonna be the first ones in Rivendell to give him one!'

The softer of the two voices spoke again, and by now the Prince recognised this as Elrohir, the younger of the two Lordlings.

'Well, I wouldn't like a surprise like this, but if it means we get to play with him earlier, I'll do it too. After three?'

Now Elladan must have nodded, and as Legolas reached his destination, he heard a double count.

'One…'

Legolas took hold of the footboard and poked his head over it.

'Two…'

The two elflings gripped the edge of the covers, and braced their feet.

'Thr…'

'Hello.'

The cover ripped off, as the two elflings reacted to the voice in their ears, and spun to face the speaker. The quilt tugged at the blond head and Legolas was left looking far more ruffled than his father would have liked, but the twins barely noticed, so surprised were they to see their victim awake and smiling at them. Meanwhile, the Prince was left looking at a dark haired elfling and a mirror image, though he was yet to discern which was real and which reflection.

'You are the twins, aren't you, Elladan and Elrohir? My brothers told me all about you, and how many adventures you had while they were here. Can we have some too, do you think? Then I can tell Aran and Corin when I go home!'

Sitting stunned at the other elflings appearance, Dan and Ro looked at each other then back at the Mirkwood Prince. Narrowing his eyes slightly, Dan shuffled forward.

'How did you do that?'

Legolas' open smile disappeared, replaced by a more tentative one.

'Do what?'

'Sneak up on us like that,' answered Ro.

Legolas' smile returned in full force.

'Oh! That was my prowling! I've been practicing really hard so that I can go on patrol around the palace with my brothers and sister, but Ada still won't let me. But I can do it, I know I can, just like I showed you. You saw, didn't you!'

The twins both nodded at the same speed and with the same ferocity. Legolas almost shook his head in an attempt to rid himself of this double vision.

'Can you teach us? Glorfy's always sneaking up on us like that, it'd be fun to do it back sometime!'

'Yeah, like when he's teaching in the courtyard. We can sneak up and knock his aim off, so he'll miss with his arrows. But we'll go so fast that he won't know what it was, and'll probably just think it was the wind!'

'Or, or, when he's eating his lunch out on the practice fields, we can prowl up and move his biscuits and fruit, so he'll think that ants took them!'

'Yeah! And then we can have them instead, and it'll be alright 'cos Glorfy can just get more from the kitchen, but we're never allowed extra biscuits, so it's only fair that he share his…'

Legolas had sunk down to rest his elbows on the footboard whilst this rapid fire exchange was going on, and the twins suddenly realised that their new friend had gone silent. Both turning at once, they spoke in stereo.

'What's wrong?'

Now that smile, so renowned in the Greenwood for its utterly enthralling brightness crept across the elfling's face.

'Nothing,' he murmured.

Then he shook his head, and climbed over the footboard to crouch between the twins on the floor.

'I think I'm gonna like it here.'

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Breakfast had passed swiftly for the elves in the Hall of Fire; with decades of news to share, they had no shortage of conversation or topics. So, it was only when the food had been cleared away and there was a lull in the steady stream of words that Thranduil noticed how high the sun had risen.

'By the Valar, we have talked for an age, and all before the midday! It is a wonder that my little one has not yet awoken, he must have truly been exhausted by last night's adventures.'

Elrond raised an eyebrow and leaned forward a little.

'Adventures? We know you rode through the night Thranduil, but we did not believe it to be due to a threat of any kind. What troubles did you encounter in the woods?'

Thranduil's brow creased slightly as he weighed his words, and spoke slowly as though still pondering that question himself.

'It was strange Elrond. We had set up camp for the night, and I had promised Legolas a reward for staying with the group for as long as he had,' here he smiled, and recognised the comprehension in both Elrond and Celebrian's faces, all parents together. 'So whilst we took our meal to the top of a tree and dined with the stars, my Captain had sent out scouts to secure the area. It was not until I returned, however, that I was informed of the adan tracks found nearby. It would seem that we had avoided them by a few hours, but I did not wish to come across any unknown with Legolas sleeping a stone's throw away.'

Celebrian touched Thranduil's hand gently and nodded her agreement.

'That is understandable Thranduil. Not for all of Rivendell would I risk my sons in such a way, not if there was an alternative. And Legolas is tired from the trip? Well, I would be too. He should stay in bed for as long as he needs it.'

Thranduil smiled at his Lady host and squeezed the offered hand with a tenderness born of long familiarity.

'I appreciate your support in my choices, Cel, but that is not why Legolas was asleep when we arrived. Well, partly, I would say, but…' he sighed and leaned back from the table, a puzzled look on his fair features.

'It was after we had mounted our horses, and were on our way here. Legolas had seemed restless earlier in the night, but I had put it down to excitement, and sleeping in an unknown place for the first time. But as I was holding him before me, he began to struggle and fight, crying out for me as though he could not feel my arms around him. Nerometh realised that he was fighting against the cloak that surrounded him, but as soon as he was released, he threw himself at me, clutching my tunic as though he would never let go.' At the recent memory, Thranduil began to grow perturbed once more. 'I've never seen him so terrified, Cel, not even after…'

Elrond lowered his head as both of his companions winced at the reminder of their loss. He cleared his throat softly and tried to retrieve the conversation.

'It was a nightmare, was it not? Legolas was scared not just of being trapped, but of something in his dreams, maybe?'

Thranduil's eyes lost the mild glaze of nostalgia that had settled and nodded.

'Yes, as I said, he had been unsettled since we had returned to the camp. I think riding through the night just exacerbated it.'

Elrond looked at Celebrian and saw the same worry in her eyes that was stroking at his own heart. Thranduil, not having retained his title by being slow or inobservant, caught the exchange.

'What? What do you know of this? Elrond?'

The Lord of Imladris rested his chin between forefinger and thumb, and met Thranduil's eyes once more.

'Two nights ago the twins had a nightmare too. We were, of course, perturbed to hear of it, but would have treated it much the same as any night fear. That is, until we realised that the twins had shared their dream, and their anxiety.'

Pausing for a second, Elrond saw the creeping recognition fire in his eyes. He hurried on.

'Elladan had wanted to keep it a secret, believing himself and his brother too old to come to us for help.' That still stung, even now, and Celebrian laced her hands together before her in an attempt to distract from the recollections. 'Elrohir however, did not. He is not often in direct opposition with his twin, but when he feels a certain way, he is as stubborn as a stallion. So they argued and I interrupted, resulting in two scared twins and an injured Elrohir, who slipped from one of these benches. The point I am working towards here, Thranduil, is that our sons had a nightmare too. Around the same time. Now I know that they are not impossible, but you must admit that elves having night terrors is unusual.'

The King was staring at his counterpart now, eyes both angered and puzzled. Something was going on here, but he did not know what, or why. And it concerned his youngest, his Little Leaf. Well, that was going to stop right now.

'What are you saying Elrond? What does this mean? Why would three elflings have nightmares and no adults? And what do you mean, the twins shared the fear? I don't understand!'

Raising his hands placatingly, Elrond gestured for peace. Nerometh had started forward from where he had been standing in the doorway, making his way to his Liege's side.

'Nerometh, go and fetch Legolas, please. If he is still asleep, let him sleep, but I want him here with me, where I can see him.'

The dark haired captain swept a fist from heart and spun to carry out his orders, wondering at this strange occurrence.

Thranduil meanwhile was yet to wonder anything. Visions of danger and threats from every corner loomed closer and closer, and his mind was swirling with images of his wife, broken and fading before leaving for the West. That would not happen to him again, never again, not to his babies, her babies. And not to her last gift to him, not if he had to…

A cool hand brushed against his cheek and the King's head snapped up to see Celebrian standing gracefully before him, looking in to his face.

'Hush, son of Oropher, those shadows in the East cannot reach here, not to Legolas. He is safe in bed, and the only threat that awaits him is the mischief of my sons when they realise that their new playmate is making them wait.'

Taking a breath, Thranduil turned tumultuous eyes to Elrond, almost pleading for an explanation. But Elrond had none to give.

'I'm sorry Thranduil, I do not know why this has happened, or why the elflings reacted thusly. But I do know that they are safe within my walls, and that as long as you remain here, all Noldor will protect him. No one will harm your Prince here, my friend.'

Thranduil bowed his head in subdued acquiescence, relaxing under the gentle stroking of Celebrian's hand on his head, as though it was he who had had the nightmare, and was in need of comfort.

_That may well be true, Thranduil. After all, how much more pain can you take? Your father, mother, your wife. It's only a matter of time, the shadow is growing…_

Shaking his head free of both Cel's hand and his traitorous terrifying thoughts, Thranduil resolved himself. Elrond could see it in his posture, in his face. No one would harm his child without having to find a way past the King of Mirkwood first, and every Sindar warrior he could bring to bear. Nodding inwardly, Elrond agreed. _For my sons, anything._

'So what was this about the twins? They shared a dream?'

'Yes. It would seem that way, although Elladan wasn't quite as sure as Elrohir about that. All he could remember was darkness and shouting, he said. But Ro was quite eloquent after he recovered from his hand injury. He said Dan was asleep, and he would not wake up. The door to the room they were in was heavy, wooden and locked, and no amount of banging brought help. He said he was all alone, and it was tight where they were. As if the air was thin, the walls close. But the problem we have with this description is another matter though, my friend. As descriptive as Elrohir made it, it may well be a simple conjuring of an overactive mind. However, as you well know, the twins do have a rather…unique heritage.'

At this Thranduil snorted and glanced at Celebrian, who had returned to her husband's side with silent grace.

'What could he mean Cel? That their mother is as stubborn and irascible as the day is long, but quite taken with flights of fancy when the mood takes her?'

Now was Celebrian's turn to smile.

'I know perfectly well what you are referring to, and do not think that I will sit quietly while you tell tales of my misspent adolescence, Thran. But we digress. I think what Elrond is referring to is his half- elven blood, and my mother and fathers' powers.'

Thranduil nodded in understanding.

'Ahh, the fabled magic of Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn. With a family like yours, it would be no small wonder if…'

Elrond saw the moment understanding struck.

'You mean, it could be… the twins… but they're so young! Just elflings, Elrond!'

Both the Lord and Lady of Imladris looked to the other in that moment and a wave of sadness passed over each. Yet only for an instant, then it was gone.

'We know Thranduil. We knew this was a possibility from the moment we met. With my power of foresight and healing abilities, and the combined magic of Lothlorien in their veins, it would have been a miracle if the twins did not inherit some form of mysticism. But we will guide them, help them through what is to come. And for now, we have the hope that it was merely an anomaly, their senses testing out what they could do. They really are far younger than we would have expected, and their Grandmother seems to believe that now is not the time for their powers to come in to being. In fact, our version of the nightmare was interesting for another reason.'

At this, Celebrian looked askance at her husband.

'I would not call it 'interesting', Elrond. My sons are not a subject for your studies.'

Thranduil looked from the slightly chastised elf lord to his regal wife and had to hide a smile. Whatever had piqued Elrond's interest had obviously worried him just as much as it had Celebrian, but he simply chose to look at it from a more logical, detached standpoint than the mother of his study subjects could.

'Well? What was it?'

'…Twin empathy.'

Thranduil breathed out a long, thin tunnel of air from between his teeth, and struggled to come up with a response. Anything he said would surely sound trite to either parent, but he could not simply stay silent. He was the King, for Manwë's sake! He could not be struck dumb by anything. But oh, Valar, what this meant for those little elflings…

'It is alright Thranduil. We were tongue tied too when we found out. But it is not all bad. They have always been inseparable, now it is just an extension of that. They go together, wherever they travel, even when they are apart. Honestly, it must be quite comforting to know that there is always someone who knows exactly what you are going through, wherever you are, don't you think?'

Thranduil did not know whether Celebrian was trying to convince him or herself, and it was heartbreaking to see the indecision in her eyes. He knew that guilt lingering there; if she and Elrond had never met, if she had married another, if, if, if… It was the same for him. If she had not gone out alone that day, if only her horse had not bolted, if she could have stayed just one more moment … Oh, Eru Illuvatar, if she had had Legolas with her… Thranduil clamped his eyes shut so he could not see her pain.

_They should never have had to feel any pain…_

But he knew her strength and her love for the half-elf too. And the ferocity in her eyes when she had reprimanded her husband moments ago displayed her adoration for her sons so clearly that even a stranger would have recognised it.

'Yes Cel, if they are as inseparable as you say, it will be a blessing. A friend who knows you better than yourself, and you him. It takes away half the weight of any burden they will ever face.'

Both Elrond and Celebrian's faces softened and Cel gripped her husband's hand tightly beneath the tabletop.

'And I believe it is time for me to meet them. You have seen my Little Leaf, now I think I should like to behold the Twin Stars of Imladris.'

'It is strange, I had thought they would be here by now…'

Elrond's hushed thought was trampled beneath the sound of footfalls down the corridor, and the sudden reappearance of Nerometh, his black braids flaying the air about him.

And Thranduil was on his feet in an instant, as Nero exclaimed;

'My Lords, Lady! The Prince, Legolas, he is gone!'

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Glorfindel was having a bad morning. It had started before dawn when a runner had woken him with the news that the Mirkwood party had arrived early. And so taken had everyone been with this discovery that no one had thought to tell him.

By the time the message reached him, breakfast was about to begin, and he could not very well just stroll in without having been formally introduced to the King and his contingent. Not that they had never met before, just that last time it had been a bit hectic what with the fighting and the killing of orc after orc. Glorfindel could not even remember when that was; having lived two lifetimes, he had long since given up trying to place dates to every memory he encountered.

And so, he had been forced to scavenge his breakfast from the kitchens like a scullion, and began the long wait until the end of the welcoming meal. Of course, there would be another tonight, a feast no doubt, which he would be able to attend. Still, it irritated him that he was stuck eating an apple and two biscuits when the rest of Imladris was more than likely breaking bread with their Mirkwood brethren. _Alright, maybe not the rest of Imladris, but I'd bet a keg of Elrond's brandy that no one is eating such a meagre meal as I!_

Suitably satisfied with his internal proclamation, Glorfindel wandered to his favourite log, by the side of the far practice field. This was his place, where everyone that had lived in Rivendell since he had arrived there knew he liked to be left in peace. Where only the phenomenally brave or interminably stupid would dare to venture.

And Erestor, of course. But he was both those things. Or neither. Glorfindel could never quite decide why Erestor would approach the log with a look of triumph in his eye. It was not as if he would leap up and slay the scholarly elf simply for being there. Everyone knew that. But strangely, he did not know why everyone knew that. Or how. Silently pondering this conundrum, Glorfindel admitted to himself that Elrond could come here too. And his explanation for the Erestor puzzle was always simple.

'_Because he's your friend, Glorfindel. You can have them, you know.'_

Pfft. He only did it to irritate the golden haired warrior, that is what Erestor would say if he asked him. And that was a far more likely reason than Elrond's.

Due to all of these deep thoughts, Glorfindel was slightly distracted. However, he was never so immured in his own mind that he would miss the sound of stealthy footsteps creeping up behind him.

_And I know that Erestor always walks here across the field, so he can smirk at me for as long as possible before he reaches me. So, who could this be…_

Bowing his head and pretending to doze, Glorfindel couldn't help the small smile that twitched at the side of his lips. When the steps stopped, he stayed perfectly still. And when he saw a small hand reach out and grab his remaining biscuit off the top of his log, he had to stifle a laugh. Yet still, he remained.

'Wow, Legolas. You're really good at this. Glorfy didn't even wake up!'

'Wonder why he's sleepin' outside like squirrel. Maybe he thinks it's winter and he's hibernating!'

'Don't be silly Dan. Glorfy knows he's not a squirrel. And 'sides, he be up a tree if he was hibernatin'!'

'You said he'd be firing arrows. Can we wake him up so he'll shoot some?'

'Hmm, I don't know 'Las, if we wake him up now he might think it was us that took his biscuit, instead of ants.'

Glorfindel couldn't help it. He had to smile.

'…But it was us. And you've still got your bit all down your front, so he'll know it was you.'

'It wasn't just me! You had some too! And anyway, we missed breakfast, so he won't mind…'

The conversation stopped dead as a low voice suddenly rang out;

'Oh won't I, my little biscuit thieves?!'

All three elflings scattered in three different directions, shrieking in mock fear as their target rose up from his 'sleep', and turned to catch them.

Nimble as an elfling, Glorfindel had little problem scooping up first one dark haired mischief maker under one arm and then another under the other.

Yet by the time he had tracked the third member of the little gang, he seemed to have lost his authority some what. Elrohir had managed to twist round in his grip and scrambled up the arm, where he was slowly but surely managing to situate himself on the golden haired elf's shoulders, trapping numerous shining strands in the process. Being fairly accustomed by now to squirming passengers, this was little problem for Glorfindel.

But Elladan was laughing so hard that he was struggling to breathe with one arm holding his ribs, so his captor had to release him, and stand him up straight in order to let him catch his breath.

'I knew you were awake Glorfy! Even 'Las can't sneak up on you like that, and we'd have to practice more if we ever want to really steal your biscuit, wouldn't we? But you were scary, jumping up at us.'

Each sentence from above him was punctuated with a pat on the top of his head, and Glorfindel reached up to fasten the small hands beneath his chin, urging the elfling to hold on tightly rather than proceeding to give him a low grade concussion.

'You were all very stealthy, little one, but I was not prepared for so many of you to ambush me. I see you have a new member on your team this morning.'

By now Elladan had slowed his heaving, giggling gasps, and began to nod slowly, whilst looking around for his new friend.

'Yep, Legolas has come to stay with us like Aran and Corin did, and he's goin' to teach us _prowling_… Why does 'Las get to prowl but we don't, Glorfy?'

_Ah, tread carefully Glorfindel, or Elrond - no, Celebrian! – will have your head…_

'Well, Prince Legolas lives far away, in the forest of Greenwood, where there are a lot of dangerous things. The elves there learn 'prowling' so that they can safely avoid danger. But I'm sure that King Thranduil would not allow an elfling of the Prince's age to ever be exposed to such risks.'

A sigh breathed forlornly from the middle of a clump of leaves to Glorfindel's right, and he stilled before he could react. _The elfling is rather talented at silence and sneaking, I'll admit that… _

'See? I told you. My Ada won't let me patrol yet… I think it's because I'm short.'

Glorfindel smiled at that simple explanation. Parting the leaves disguising the elfling, he found himself face to face with a tiny version of Thranduil, and could not stop the beam that covered his face.

'Well met, son of Thranduil. I am Glorfindel, as I am sure your two mischievous guides have already told you, and it is my honour to meet you at last.'

From his place over Glorfindel's head, Elrohir laughed, and swung his feet in glee.

'You look like a yellow bush 'Las! You're all leafy and dusty, isn't he Glorfy?'

Weathering the heels now beating at his chest, Glorfindel too smiled at the image. Reaching a hand out, he offered the elfling assistance to leap from the tree, and soon had all of his 'attackers' within sight for the first time.

'Hello, Lord Glorfindel. I am Legolas. It is very nice to meet you.' Glorfindel watched in amusement as the Prince visibly pulled these words from his memory, and then, chore over, began to breathe faster. 'Now can you shoot some arrows? Dan and Ro said you'd be shooting arrows, and that you can hit a target in Lord Elrond's private chambers from the edge of the training fields! Can you do that again? Can I watch?!'

A startled Glorfindel inwardly cursed the long memory of the elves - and the selectively long memory of elflings - and he sighed a response.

'I am afraid, little Prince, that my skills have been rather misrepresented. I am adequate with both bow and blade, but would never be so foolhardy as to fire a weapon at my Lord's private chambers. Or even in the direction of the House unless in dire need. And neither should you, as arrows can be very dangerou -'

'But Glorfy! We saw you, that time, remember? You fired an arrow through Ada's window, and hit Erest - '

'Ahem! Now, Elladan, I've explained this before, to both you and Erestor, that was a training accident. And it was a blunted arrow, Erestor was never in any real danger. And it only took a few days for him to recover, didn't it?'

The panicked look in Glorfindel's eyes had all three elflings nodding in response as his rapid monologue came to a swift end. _Erestor never did believe that whole training incident excuse, and I've only just stopped looking over my shoulder as it is. If they bring it up again… Time for the age old trick. Diversion…_

'So, have you three eaten yet? It would seem that I only had one biscuit with my breakfast this morning, and I for one am ready for some more. Would you care to join me?'

_Perfect._

The resounding yelp of glee that erupted and followed them all the way back to the kitchens put Glorfindel's mind at ease. _ Feed them up and they'll forget all about Erestor. Or at least until I'm a hundred leagues away! _

Soon all four hungry beings had ravaged the kitchens, been chased away by a young elleth for their troubles, and decided to sit amongst the branches of the twin's favourite oak tree to devour their spoils.

'I sat in an oak like this one on the way here, with my Ada. We had honeycakes from back home, and they're the best ones around! But Ada said I could teach Lord Elrond how to make them, if he wants to learn.'

'Oh! We can ask right now, and maybe Ada'll let us all join in!'

'Mmm hmm, I think he will. We can say it's _learning_, so he won't mind!'

Glorfindel was quite used to the twins' crafty ways by now, but seeing them interact with this new elfling was truly gratifying. _They have welcomed him with no reserve, and he is quite content. It is a shame there are so few elflings for them to grow with, but this proves that they are not suffering because of it. They are quite willing to embrace other little ones and drag them in to their nefarious schemes!_

'Yes, I believe it is time to return to your parents. Surely by now they will be wondering -'

Glorfindel halted mid sentence as his sharp ears picked up the sound of numerous running feet, followed by a bark that sent a surge of panic through him. _Elrond never uses that voice unless there is danger…_

'Glorfindel!'

The golden haired warrior leapt from the tree and swept to his Lord's side, his face anxious and questioning. No words were needed.

'Glorfindel, the Prince, Legolas. He is yet an elfling, hair and face to match his father. He is missing, taken from within my Home!'

Elrond's face was furious and worried all at the same time, and his diatribe did not stop there.

'And have you seen the twins? They did not come to the Hall of Fire this morning, and – by the Valar, Glorfindel, I promised Thranduil he would be safe! I swore to him that this is a haven, that his youngest child would be protected. If the child comes to any harm…'

Finally, Glorfindel saw his chance. His stance had become more and more relaxed as Elrond had continued, and now he was beginning to shake his head in barely suppressed amusement. Elrond was not impressed.

'What can you possibly find in this situation to smile about, Glorfindel? The children are gone, and no one has seen them for hours! The bedclothes in the Prince's room were strewn across the floor and there were no traces to follow at all. I fear for him Glorfindel, I fear for all three of them!'

Placing a gentle hand on his friend's shoulder, Glorfindel inclined his head slightly.

'Calm yourself, Elrond. Rest assured that I find nothing amusing about your fears or dangers of any sort when concerning the young ones. But I cannot help but laugh, my Lord, when I have recently been sitting in the twins' oak tree eating biscuits with all three, discussing the possibility of you making honey cakes.'

Elrond's eye widened with surprise, only to rapidly soften with relief and just as quickly narrow with anger. _How could they be so impulsive?! Worrying everyone like that, when there is danger lurking in my own lands, and the shadow ever present…_

Still, the hand on his shoulder dragged him back to himself. Turning his attention back to his seneschal, he let the other elf's words soothe him.

'Peace, Elrond. I know, you have been needlessly frightened this day, but the little ones did not know of your fears.' That Glorfindel himself was at a loss as to why this incident had caused such a reaction went unsaid, and Elrond promised to tell his friend about recent events later, just as soon as Thranduil had his son back. 'They were simply getting to know each other, and, I believe, have become good friends over the course of this morning. Do not be hard on them, my Lord. They would not have left if they thought you were worried about them.'

Letting out a sigh, Elrond gripped the hand that grounded him, and nodded his thanks. Then, moving round Glorfindel, he made his way to the tree. Surely enough, before he was able to make out the elflings supposedly sitting in its branches, there was a rustling and a streak of green and black sped towards him. Bracing himself for a rough landing, Elrond managed to keep his momentum even as Elrohir attached himself to his front.

'Ada! We were just coming to find you! Look, we showed Legolas where we could find Glorfy, but he wouldn't shoot arrows, so we went and erm… p…pun… we plun…we went and got biscuits from the kitchens! But can you make honey cakes with us? Las said he'd show you how to do it right.'

And a sly voice from above them added;

'And it's learning, Ada, we'll learn how to make 'em before we eat!'

Gripping his child a little more than was truly necessary, Elrond drew on the patience and calm wherewithal that he was renowned for.

'It would seem that you have had a busy morning indeed, my sons. But did you not think that perhaps the Prince would want some breakfast before going to explore? Or that your Ammë and I would want to meet him in a more… conventional setting than hanging from the branches of a tree?'

Now Elrohir laughed, obviously not comprehending the latent reprimand that underpinned his Adar's words.

'You've met him before Ada, this morning in the courtyard. Well, Las was asleep, but you and Ammë saw him. And we had breakfast, when we plu… when we… Ada, what did we do to the kitchens?'

Even after centuries of politics and dealing with different people for thousands of different reasons, Elrond was often dumbfounded by his sons' ability to make him completely speechless. Moments ago, he was tearing through the gardens, fearing unknown dangers and menaces abound, and now, his irrepressible elflings were hanging from both his neck and an oak tree, questioning him on vocabulary and honey cakes. As he heard Glorfindel chuckling from behind him, he gave up all hope of maintaining his disciplinary intentions. _It wasn't their fault. They were just excited to meet a new friend, and restless enough to skip a meal in order to play. They are healthy and happy, and that is enough._

'The word is plundered, Elrohir. I told you earlier, our plan was to plunder the kitchens, and pillage the biscuit store. Plunder, pillage and prowl. They were the lessons for this morning.'

At that, however, Elrond raised an eyebrow.

'Plunder, pillage and prowl? I do not recall that being on the twins' curriculum, Lord Glorfindel. And I'm certain that Erestor would not have added it without informing me first.'

Glorfindel seemed to be having a difficult time keeping his smile in check.

'Well, my Lord, it was an impromptu decision. The elflings seemed to be already practicing prowling when they found me this morning – apparently, Prince Legolas is quite accomplished in that particular area – and none of us had eaten a filling meal, hence the plundering and pillaging.'

Now Elrond felt his own lips twitching in amusement. Drawing back a little so he could look in to Elrohir's face, he cocked his head to one side mischievously.

'So I am to receive word later in the day that my kitchens have been raided, and the biscuit supply suffered terrible losses, am I? This is atrocious. What kind of elflings would do such a thing? Leaving Rivendell hungry and biscuitless?!'

The last of Elrond's anxiety fled as he was bathed in the laughter of the three elfings scattered around him. Suddenly, two heads popped out from the lowest branch, dangling upside down and giggling. One light and one dark, the smiles on the open faces were nevertheless equally content.

'Ada, we can always make more, can't we? Oh, and Las wants to make honeycakes, like in Mirkwood. We could have a biscuit and honeycake tea!'

'Yes! Ada, we can test to see if Mirkwood honeycakes are as good as Imladris ones. I bet they aren't!'

'Yes they are; they're the best I've ever had!'

'They're the only ones you've ever had!'

'…Well, I bet they're still nicer than yours, Dan!'

'Are not! Ours have got cinnamon in them too, and are sticky inside.'

'So have mine! And they get a little crunchy round the top too, you have to bring them out the oven at just the right time to -'

'Legolas!'

The two hanging elflings both jerked to a halt at the shouted name, and Legolas himself swung down from the tree in an immediate and obviously well-learned response.

It was not often he heard his Ada sound that angry, and he had not even done anything bad today, had he? Well he had been prowling again, but Ada said that was alright when inside Lord Elrond's lands and they were now, and…

The blond elf swept in to the clearing and gathered his youngest child to his chest, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Legolas clung back in an innate response to his parent's fear; if Ada was this scared, something bad must be out there, it must be dangerous. Thranduil did not see the scared look in his son's eyes, simply grateful beyond any stretch of the imagination to have his son back in his arms. Elrond, however, did.

Laying a soft hand on Thranduil's shoulder, he spoke gently.

'Your Highness, Legolas is safe. He and the twins had simply gone exploring, and met Glorfindel on their travels. It would seem that they have fed themselves by 'exploring' my kitchens, but otherwise have seen no troubles. He is safe, my friend. Safe and here. Now,' moving his hand to Thranduil's forearm, he gripped it lightly, urging the King to loosen his hold, 'you can relax once more.' Glancing meaningfully at his sons and the child currently wrapped around the King's neck, he continued. 'You are scaring the little ones.'

Conscious thought seeped back in to Thranduil's mind as Elrond's last few words connected. _Scaring the…_ Suddenly realising that his son was trembling in his arms, Thranduil changed his hold from that of protection to comforting, and stroked the back of Legolas' head.

'Shh, little leaf, it is alright. Ada was just worried about you, that is all. You had vanished in a strange place, and I could not find you, child. Do not go wandering off again, alright?'

The small blond head nodded twice, but the face did not reappear.

_I must have truly scared him, grabbing him like that, and without even a word. Oh, but to have lost him, to have never held him like this again… It would have been too much. Too much for me. Still… he is here. Safe, as Elrond swore. And obviously enjoying himself, before my overwhelming entrance anyway. Nightmares or not, these elflings are certainly happy enough in the daylight. Now, I need to get those smiles back…_

'So, my son. Are you going to introduce me to your friends? I think I could guess their names, but I would not care to guess as to which is which!'

At this teasing from his father, Legolas seemed to respond. His head turned towards his Ada's hopeful face, and a small smile appeared when he saw that everything was alright again. Ada was not mad, only worried, and everything was alright. Still, only loosening his grip a fraction, he nevertheless twisted his head towards his new found friends and giggled a little.

'It's easy Ada. That one's Ro, and that one's Dan. Oh, I mean Elrohir and Elladan, of course.' Satisfied with his declaration and overlooking the bemused expressions on the faces of the elves in the courtyard, he continued in a voice befitting his regal status. 'And are you going to introduce me to your friend, Ada?'

_Ah, there is my Leaf, mischievous though he may be!_

Properly chastised for his poor manners, Thranduil smiled fully at his son and bowed slightly in Elrond's direction.

'I apologise my friend if I have acted improperly. Yet with some necessary prompting from his royal highness the Prince, I recognise that I have been negligent. Legolas, this is Lord Elrond of Imladris, ruler of these lands. Lord Elrond, this is my son, Prince Legolas of the Greenwood, lord of mischief and trouble-making from here to the far West.'

Now laughter broke out from many of the collected parties, and Thranduil realised that Nerometh had joined them during his introduction speech. Even now, with his child safely within his grasp, he still felt steadier with his captain in sight, and found himself momentarily wondering if the feeling of unease he still harboured from the night before would linger for the duration of his stay. Shaking himself from his reverie, Thranduil now turned his attention to the two elflings staring in apparent apprehension at him.

_Legolas pointed at the one in the tree when he said Dan, so Elrohir must be the one with Elrond. _

Silently assuring himself, he hesitated only long enough to briefly scan for the differences in the twins which Legolas seemed to have identified. Finding nothing obvious, he chose to press onwards instead, hoping that his son was correct.

_It wouldn't do to mix their names up upon first meeting. After all, a King should always be certain of his facts and words… But how can Legolas be certain?!_

'And I would greet you also, Lords Elladan and Elrohir. I am afraid that our early arrival this morning has made our formal introductions quite, shall we say, out of the ordinary, but it is a pleasure to meet the twin stars of Imladris at last.'

Silence reigned over the courtyard and Elrond coughed lightly, trying to coax a response out of either twin. Twitching his arms, which still held Elrohir closely, he turned his face to his youngest child.

'Elrohir, are you not going to welcome King Thranduil as our guest?'

Although Elrohir had long since become known as the more sedate of the pair, he was by no means reticent to speak to those he encountered. In fact, it was recognised amongst the inhabitants of Rivendell – and the surrounding countryside – that what he lacked in boisterous behaviour he more than made up for in verbosity. So, it was strange to those who knew him and his brother to see both struck mute.

In response to his father's probing, however, Elrohir obviously felt some obligation to act. So, wriggling out of his Ada's arms, he slid down the length of his body, ran to the tree, and leapt up to join his twin on the lowest branch. There, he began a heated but almost inaudible debate with his twin, consisting of hissed multiple 'no, you ask him!'s, and 'no, you!'s, until their father once more cleared his throat. Then looking at each other once – and Thranduil had to wonder whether that empathy was at work, or just a battle of wills – they both jumped down, and made their way to stand before the royal pair.

Thranduil hugged Legolas a little closer as he watched these little ones approach him, looking so serious yet clearly bursting with curiosity and energy.

'We, Elladan and -'

'Elrohir of Imladris would like to-'

'Welcome you, King Thranduil and you-'

'Prince Legolas of Greenwood to our home, and hope-'

'That you will both enjoy your stay with us.'

As their back and forth method of speaking drew to a close, both Elrond and Glorfindel raised an eyebrow in suspicion. The twins rarely spoke in unison; although they often knew what the other was going to say, they were too stubborn to relinquish their own ideas and merge to form one single train of thought. Which meant that this display was either a subconscious response to the abrupt and unnerving arrival of Thranduil… or they were up to something.

The King, in the meantime, was struck just as silent as the twins had been moments before. _So close that they finish each others sentences? This is truly amazing, Aran never told me of this! They are a wonder, a miracle of elven breeding. And so alike! I can see both Cel and Elrond in both their faces, yet that likeness pales in comparison to their similarity to each other. It must be the Lady Galadriel's blood in their veins, her magic and Elrond's unique heritage producing such elflings as these… _

And being so overawed, Thranduil neglected to see the twins' very basic plan.

'As guests of the Noldor, we do hope that -'

'You will share with us some of our more traditional pastimes-'

'And hopefully we will be able to share some of your own.'

Nodding blankly, the King agreed wholeheartedly.

'It would be our pleasure, I am sure. There are many events that the elves of Mirkwood are well-versed in. It would be my honour to share them with you both.'

And the trap was set.

Elrond saw it, Glorfindel saw it, and even Nerometh, who had only just set eyes on the twins, could see the danger. If not in the identically faux-passive faces before them, then in the quickly hidden giggle that burst from Legolas' lips; the elves in the vicinity all pricked their ears, in the hope of averting the downfall of a King.

'We would enjoy that very much, your Highness -'

'So, may we be the first to request an event?'

Thranduil replied before anyone could stop him.

'Of course, my Lords, whatever you would like. My resources are yours until we leave.'

And the trap snapped home, leaving Thranduil and his warriors at the mercy of two elflings for as long as they desired.

Both Elladan and Elrohir smiled demurely at their guest, and slyly at their new friend. Then, speaking in perfect harmony, recited sweetly;

'We heard that Mirkwood elves are especially skilled at 'prowling'. Can we start with that?'

The courtyard rang with the laughter of one blond haired prince, the groans of two elfling weary Lords, and a single despairing word.

'Prowling?!'


	5. Dreams and Distractions

**Title:**** 'Bridges'**

**Author:**** freeflow**

**Rating:**** M**

**Disclaimer****, A/N, Summary:**** See Chapter 1**

Chapter 5

The meal was almost over, and the Hall of Fire, with its main attraction roaring and crackling in the hearth, was warm and lethargic. Numerous elves still sat at the main table, although the food had long since been cleared away, and friends and fellow warriors mingled around the spacious area. Of course, the feast had been scheduled to officially welcome the Royal family of Mirkwood back to Imladris' homestead, but the structure and formality of the evening had not lasted long, with three elflings laughing and chattering, and the two families getting to know each other once more.

Each of Thranduil's party had travelled to Lord Elrond's lands in the past, either passing through or staying to rest and recuperate at the Peredhil's request on their various journeys. Meeting old comrades and acquaintances had taken up much of the evening and stretched in to the night, yet no one seemed inclined to move.

Thranduil himself had selected a comfy corner to relax in, sitting on cushions and retelling one of Corin's misadventures from his elflinghood. Both Elrond and Celebrian had joined the King in his casual recline, and soft laughter floated up from their conversation to dance around the other voices and songs that were merging in the air.

On a wooden bench at the far back of the room, Glorfindel and Erestor had excused themselves from the merriment and reunions, if only for a while.

'It is a pleasant change to have the Hall so full again, Lord Glorfindel.'

The golden haired warrior smiled at the title, and ducked his head slightly to hide his knowing expression. _He finds it just as difficult as I to accept friendship. Our circumstances may be different, but our outlooks are the same. Well, Lord Erestor, if an honorific is the way to solve our discomfort, I can play the game too. And maybe, eventually, we will conquer our fear of friendship together._

'It is different, after such a long time, to have the House of Oropher once more as our guests. Yet I do not suppose it is so surprising, my Lord. After all, once the Princes Aran and Corin took their leave, it was surely inevitable that their father would wish to visit.'

Now Erestor looked slightly puzzled. Shifting his gaze, he focused on his companion.

'Inevitable? How so? I know the Princes will have told tales of Imladris, but why would that peak Thranduil's interest so much? He has visited before, after all, and Rivendell has not changed so much since then.'

Glorfindel laughed at that remark.

'Not changed since then? Oh, Lord Erestor, you have simply become accustomed to the mayhem of this house. When the King last visited, he and his lady wife had only recently been wed. Elrond and Lady Celebrian were happily married and remained in the hazy state of new love, and Rivendell seemed a sanctuary of contentment and passion.'

A frown drawing his features, Erestor nodded.

'Yes, I remember. Well, it was not quite as perfect as you make it out to be, Lord Glorfindel, but I understand your message. Still, I cannot see such a difference. It is still an idyll. It is still contented. And Lord Elrond and the Lady Celebrian are still happily married.'

'Exactly, my Lord. Unfortunately, the King has since lost his wife to the call of the West, and must look back upon that time with wonder and yearning. To hear of Rivendell from his sons, and recall the pleasure of those times will have been immensely tempting for one who has lost one so dear to him. Painful, too, but still tempting.'

'Ah, I see. With the loss of Queen Ataralasse, Thranduil is seeking to visit those places and times which held nought but good memories of his wife. You make a fair analysis, I think, Lord Glorfindel.'

The vague surprise which stained that comment was almost enough to make Glorfindel annoyed, but instead, he laughed at the obvious ribbing.

'Ah, my Lord Erestor, one does not get to be such a prolific warrior as myself without being able to analyse another's moves. And,' here the elf Lord raised an acerbic eyebrow at his critic, letting Erestor know that he was choosing not to seek revenge for the slight, _this time_, and continued in a superior tone of voice, 'it is not only for that reason. There is one other major difference that you have overlooked, although for the life of me I cannot understand how.'

Erestor could see the glint in Glorfindel's eyes. He knew that he had been asking for revenge when he had questioned the warrior's ability to perceive a situation. _And here it is. He's going to drag this out, and make himself seem wildly intelligent, whilst at the same time, making me look like a fool for not realising something obvious. Oh well, I suppose I did start it…_

Sighing, Erestor visibly caved.

'Alright, Lord Glorfindel. What is so obvious that I have overlooked? What could possibly be the main attraction to an elf from so far away; what could have made such an impression on the Princes; what could _possibly_ have changed so much since the King's last visit that he would travel for days through the wilds to get here?'

At that moment, Erestor felt a small tug on the sleeve of his robe, and just before he looked down, he caught sight of Glorfindel's smug grin.

_Oh._

''Restor? Is it time to go to bed yet? 'Cause Ada and Ammë are still talking, and Dan and Las are still playing under the table, but it's dark outside, and we did a lot of playing today already.'

Erestor had to smile at Elrohir's attempts to avoid saying that he was tired. Placing a soft hand on the elfling's head, he watched as the youngest twin stifled a yawn, but scrubbed one eye, determined to stay awake until someone told him he had to go to sleep. _So stubborn, so like his father. And Glorfindel was right. This is different. This has changed. But it was not that I overlooked the twins. It is just that I could not imagine them not being here anymore. I can remember life before them, but am able to do so with happiness because I know that they are here now. _

Moved from his reverie only by the shifting of the head from under his palm, Erestor smiled as Glorfindel reached out and picked the elfling up, turning him to sit across his lap, head under the warrior's chin. If it had been Elladan that had approached them, Glorfindel would have been a little more restrained, allowing the older twin to move first before acting so decisively. But Elrohir was still happy to be held and comforted in front of other elves, and was not so affected by his brother's desire to appear 'grown up' just yet. So, it was with easy, contented wriggles that the youngest Peredhil situated himself within Glorfindel's arms, fiddling idly with one golden braid.

'It is dark, little one, but tonight is a celebration of the Houses of Oropher and Peredhil coming together once more. Your Ada and Ammë have not seen King Thranduil in a long time, and are happy to be with him. And Elladan and Legolas will soon tire, do not worry. In fact, I believe your brother may be playing by himself now, as the Prince too looks a little weary.'

Listening intently to Erestor's words, Elrohir's grey eyes wandered from his teacher's face to the table under which his twin and new friend had taken up residence for the evening. Sure enough, amongst the cloth that they had pulled from one of the cleared tables, the blond head of Legolas could be seen, the rest of his body curled in a sleepy posture as Elladan moved his wooden carvings in some imaginary formation, narrating to his captive audience. Their castle had two 'walls' left standing, draped over the table in a messy simulation of defences, but Legolas had obviously been unhappy with the solidity of the stone floor and used two to cushion his lax form.

Seemingly comforted by the fact that he was not the only elfling to be feeling fatigued, Elrohir gave Erestor a sleepy smile and wrapped his hand more firmly around Glorfindel's braid.

'We were up very early this morning, you know, 'Restor, and it's nice and warm in here. And we have to get up early in the tomorrow, as well.'

Speaking softly in an attempt to lull the elfling to sleep, and knowing that it would not take much longer, Erestor kept the lazy conversation going.

'Oh? And why is that, little one?'

Elrohir turned his face into Glorfindel's chest and let out a long breath, seemingly settled in for the night. Glorfindel let the elfling slide down a little further, to rest more comfortably in the crook of his elbow, and with his free hand, moved the ruffled hair from the twin's forehead.

Yet just as the elves believed him to have drifted off, the small voice floated to their sensitive ears.

''Cause Las and his Ada are gonna show us prowling.'

Then, he was gone, fast asleep and dreaming. Erestor and Glorfindel watched as his face completely relaxed, and then looked at each other. Both smiled.

'That is what has changed, Lord Erestor. The twin stars of Imladris arrived, and their light has touched all who have stayed here. For Thranduil, and to a certain extent, the Prince, they may well be a way to push back the shadow, if only for a time.'

Reaching over to unclasp Elrohir's hand and removing the braid from his grip, Erestor placed the small limb over the little one's stomach. Then, looking back out at the other elflings, he huffed a slight laugh. Following his gaze, Glorfindel too began to smile, as he saw what had caught Erestor's attention.

The play under the table had drawn to a close, intended or not, as Legolas was clearly asleep, sprawled across two tablecloths. And having lost his audience, it seemed that Elladan had lost his interest in staying awake too, and the elves watched as, reaching out, he dragged the remaining sheets from the table. Throwing one across his friend, Elladan pulled the other to drape over his own head, and clutching the sides with little hands, he twisted until it completely encircled him. Covered and comfortable, he proceeded to scoot to Legolas' side, and lying with his back to his friend, slowly dropped off.

Realising that their parents were still engaged in conversation, the two elf Lords saw no real need to move any of the elflings just yet. Better that they remain asleep for a little while than wake them and have grumpy little ones at the end of such a pleasant night.

'It would seem that the King is enjoying his time with his old friends, my Lord. It makes me think…'

Glorfindel looked back to Erestor with a curious expression covering his sculpted features.

'Oh? About what?'

'If what the King needs is to enjoy some time reminiscing, then surely he, Elrond and Celebrian would do better without the elflings' constant mischief. Wouldn't you agree?'

The warrior nodded an affirmative, and began to see what his companion was hinting at.

'Mmmm, I suppose they would. And you know, the little ones are quite eager to learn… 'prowling' as they call it. Maybe tomorrow they would like to begin.'

Erestor's often stern features took on a softer look for a few moments as he glanced at one sleeping child then the others, still quiet beneath their table.

'Yes, I think a small expedition would do all of us good. The King will have his memories, the Lord and Lady their friend back, and who knows? These little ones may even learn a thing or two.' At the small scoff that comment garnered, the dark haired elf sighed. 'Or at least we will tire them out in the attempt.'

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As it turned out, Thranduil and the Lord and Lady of Imladris were far less averse to their friends' plan than Glorfindel had thought. With the furore of the morning, he had believed that the King at least would have had some objections to letting his child out of his sight again so soon.

However, the night and the company seemed to have worked their subtle magic on the blond elf, and he was relaxed more than he had been for many a year. And he had to agree, a day without the constant worry of his child's whereabouts would be a definite wonder.

'I would welcome the opportunity for Legolas to explore Elrond's lands, Lord Glorfindel, Lord Erestor. He spoke many times of his brothers' adventures on the journey here, and I am sure that he will enjoy playing beneath the boughs of different trees.'

Glorfindel smiled and hefted Elrohir higher on his shoulder as he sat lightly on a nearby bench. Elrond and Celebrian had remained sitting on cushions, but Thranduil, having begun to feel the effects of his stressful morning, was more reclined, stretched out fully, resting his head on one fist and propped up on an elbow. Erestor, not entirely sure about where to sit and trying to seem unobtrusive, eventually decided to remain standing and moved beside Glorfindel, with the pretence of keeping a watch on the remainder of their guests.

'Would you like me to take Ro, Glorfindel? It cannot be comfortable to hold him like that in the warmth of the Hall, and he does move about in his sleep.' Celebrian moved to stand, but was quickly ushered back to her seat.

'Nonsense my Lady, I am quite comfortable.' The look on the golden haired elf's face showed the sincerity of his words, and more besides, as he smiled softly at the sleeping face pressed against him. Drawing his attention back to the matter at hand, Glorfindel spoke again.

'Then you are happy, your Highness, to exchange your planned prowling lesson for this trip?'

'By all means, Glorfindel. To be truthful, I have been thinking of ways to avoid that particular promise from the moment I made it.' Chuckling lightly, Thranduil glanced over at his sleeping son and said in a stage whisper, 'my little one gets into enough scrapes without me teaching him how to do it more efficiently!'

The group smiled conspiratorially, and Glorfindel laughed softly. He stopped, however, as he noticed a slight movement behind Thranduil, followed by a clearing throat. The blond warrior stiffened slightly, and raised a hand to the back of Elrohir's head in an unconsciously protective gesture. Later, he would be embarrassed by the less-than-subtle implications of this, but at the time, he was merely angry that someone had managed to get this close to him and his Lord's family without his noticing.

'Ah, Nerometh! We were just discussing the young ones. The Lords Glorfindel and Erestor have volunteered their services for tomorrow, and plan to show Legolas the splendour of Imladris' forests.'

The dark haired elf bowed to both Glorfindel and Erestor. Speaking in a soft voice, the Mirkwood captain met the Rivendell seneschal's eyes, and smiled. 'I am certain he will find it an enjoyable and educational experience, my Lords. And, if I may add,' here he ducked a sidelong glance at his King, 'a timely distraction from a promise made to a pair of elfling twins.'

Now Glorfindel relaxed, as he read in that stoic face no trace of danger or malice. Instead, he found himself recognising the rapport between this Nerometh and Thranduil, and began to enjoy seeing such a bond playing out before him. He was perceptive enough to realise that he and Elrond shared a similar relationship, but had often wondered how others saw the two of them. Not that he would change his behaviour to suit others, of course - he had lived far too long to pander to the opinions of outsiders – but he had always been curious. And now that he was able to watch a similar pairing, he had to smile. It was just..._fun. Here is a pair who can read each other; who know the border lines but are not afraid to cross them when they need to; who would fight to save each other from both outside and internal foes; and who always know the right time to tease. If anything, the ease with which Thranduil accepts Nerometh shows a humility that most in the elven realms would never believe. It is comforting to know that even one so consumed with riches and material goods could treasure a friend so..._

'Aha, my friend, you have seen through my plans. Well, if Erestor and Glorfindel are willing, who am I to deny my little leaf an adventure?'

The two shared a smile before Nerometh resumed his original purpose, and once more directed his speech at the whole group.

'I am certain he will enjoy himself, as he already seems to have taken to the twin stars. Yet it would appear that the day has caught up with each of them.'

Now Thranduil, Celebrian and Elrond looked to the slack form of Elrohir, before turning as one to catch sight of the two strangely silent elflings tucked under their table.

Elrond shook his head at the sight.

'Cel, your mother would be most displeased if she could see this. The grandson of Galadriel of Lothlorien, wrapped in used linens, curled on a stone floor,' he sighed in mock despair, 'Has the Peredhil line fallen so far?'

Celebrian could not help but laugh at the gentle mocking.

'Nay, my love, I believe you have it slightly wrong. My father would be horrified, true. But my mother would merely say it was all by the will of the Valar, whilst surreptitiously sending three of her guard to dismantle the table, dispose of the cloths and pretend the little ones had gone to bed of their own volition.'

Under any other circumstances, the rest of their group would never have considered laughing at the Lady of Light. Yet with the atmosphere so comfortable and her daughter leading the conversation, the gathered elves all fell about in easy mirth. Even the usually implacable Erestor smiled at the floor, eyes crinkling in amusement.

_With good friends and good food, it is evenings like these that make me truly thankful for this haven... Still, Nerometh has a point. __And if we are to teach the little ones something useful tomorrow, a good night's rest would be advisable. And a simple lesson plan would not go astray..._

His mind clicking back in to practical mode, the dark haired elf rose gracefully to his feet. Inclining his head to the group, he looked from Glorfindel to Nerometh and then at the sleeping elflings.

'As much as I have enjoyed this evening my Lords, Lady, I believe it is time for the little ones and I to retire. Captain Nerometh, Lord Glorfindel, if you could assist me? We must invade the fortress and rescue the captives, and I cannot do it alone.'

'It is alright, Erestor. I will...'

Nerometh stepped forward and bowed low to his hostess.

'Nay, my Lady, allow us. Stay, savour this night; it is long since I have seen such joy on the faces of my kin. We three shall put the elflings to bed. It would be my honour.'

Glorfindel inclined his head to his Lord and Lady and rose steadily to his feet. A deep sigh accompanied the movement, and each of the elves laughed again at the dark haired bundle that made his presence known even in sleep.

'We too shall take our leave, your Highness, my Lord, Lady. It has been a fine evening. I hope the remainder will be just as pleasant.'

Another sigh, and Glorfindel pulled his burden closer. A small hand slipped out to clasp a golden braid, and once more the huddled form relaxed.

Smiling to himself and then at his friends, Glorfindel turned and made his way to the elflings' table, where Erestor was currently on his knees. Between them, it took the two dark haired elves little time to pull the young ones out, but it took far longer for Nerometh to untangle the Mirkwood prince from the cloths he had wrapped himself in.

Passing Elladan to Glorfindel, Erestor bent to help the captain with his task.

'This is quite the feat, would you not agree Lord Erestor? Even in slumber the prince can cause difficulties.'

Laughing lightly, so as not to disturb his current passengers, Glorfindel wondered at the ability of elflings to sleep so soundly. It had been many years since his dreams had been so deep and carefree, and more still since he had allowed anyone to come within reaching distance whilst he slept. _Too many battles, too many attacks. Even in Imladris an ambush is possible, although Elrond has tried hundreds of times over the years to convince me otherwise. _Glancing down at the faces pressed against him, one hidden by dark hair, the other by his own golden locks, he was flooded with the need to protect that open trust. _Sleep easy, little stars. Your Glorfy would fight any foe to keep your dreams safe..._

Finally discovering an elfling amongst the bundle of linen, Nerometh stood with Legolas draped bonelessly across his front. Obviously accustomed to being held by his father's friend, the blond prince showed no sign of distress or wakefulness, and Nerometh himself seemed well versed in transporting his prince in this manner. _He too is a guardian of dreams..._ Such a content picture was enough to convince him. Glorfindel could not bring himself to distrust any elf who had so gained an elfling's confidence, and he felt any doubts he may have had about the quiet Mirkwood captain leave him.

'It would seem, captain, that you have done this before.' Glorfindel gestured with his head towards the direction of the doorway as Erestor lifted Elladan in to his own arms once more.

Following the seneschal's lead, Nerometh turned back to Thranduil, and upon receiving a small smile and a nod of dismissal from his king, left the Hall of Fire to make his way to the sleeping chambers.

'It is well known in Mirkwood, my Lords, that to attend a feast in the King's company is to dine with the youngest of King Oropher's line. Even if he is not expected... Especially if he is not expected. And, more often than not, it is my duty to see he is retrieved from his latest escapade and put to bed as his father attempts to maintain order in our realm. Truly, since the Queen's... absence, I cannot remember seeing the end of a feast.'

Here Glorfindel smiled in understanding, but Erestor was aghast.

'But surely the child has a nanny of some description; King Thranduil cannot be content leaving his child to run amok in such a way!'

Smiling softly, Nerometh shook his head in gentle dismissal of the dark haired elf's concerns.

'Certainly, my Lord Erestor, this little one has a nanny. Truth be told, he has nine in total, and he wants for nothing. But as for 'running amok', well, the King does not see it that way. If you were to ask him, he would tell you that he is simply happy to have his son around him whenever it is possible, and he is never troublesome. And as for myself, I... I do not mourn missing the end of feasts. Not in the slightest.'

Turning in to the twins' chamber, Glorfindel smiled at that admission, and moved to the large bed.

'I believe you, Nerometh. And I can understand you absolutely.' Looking down at Elladan as Erestor pulled the light sheet over him, Glorfindel ran a soft hand over raven hair. Then, tucking Elrohir beside his brother, he stepped back, and all three elves watched the younger twin turn to press his face in to Elladan's arm. Wrinkling his brow a little, Glorfindel reached to place the back of his hand on Elrohir's cheek, his mouth quirking as he found nothing amiss.

'Lord Glorfindel?'

The hushed query drew the golden haired elf's attention, and he met Nerometh's concerned eyes.

'A little warm, maybe, but that is not unexpected after the excitement of the day. It was... just unusual for Elrohir to turn to Dan like that.'

Now Nerometh raised a brow. 'Truly? He does not seem to be the type to shy away from shows of affection.'

Glorfindel laughed openly and smiled easily at his newest acquaintance. 'And you would be correct in that assessment, captain. However, it is one of the greatest kept secrets in all of Imladris,' his voice dropped to a whisper and Erestor rolled his eyes at his antics, 'that Elladan is the snuggler of the pair.'

For the first time that night, Glorfindel was treated to an open smile from his Mirkwood counterpart. Previously, the small, quickly concealed expressions of mirth had been short lived and directed at the elflings or Thranduil. Yet this allowed the warrior to see straight in to Nerometh's eyes, connecting the two by their mutual cares and responsibilities.

'Ah, a potent secret, my Lord. Then I suppose it is only fair that I too divulge a clandestine matter of equal importance.' Matching Glorfindel's tone and volume, he looked to Erestor as though to include him in this undertaking, and ducked his head slightly, eyes narrowed. 'The truth, my Lords, is this. It would seem that my Liege's youngest, he, well... Oh, you will find out eventually I suppose.' The dark haired elf took a deep breath and Glorfindel could see his eyes glitter with suppressed laughter. 'Prince Legolas, he is... a cuddler.'

As the soft chuckles of all three elves flowed through the warm corridors, the small group moved on to the Prince's room, slowing only marginally to make certain that their words had not awakened the twins. Content that the elflings slept on, they continued down the hallway.

Had they lingered for another moment, they may have been concerned to notice the small crease that appeared upon Elladan's brow, or the quick intake of breath that accompanied it. Yet it was apparent for only a heartbeat before the smooth features relaxed once more, and a long sigh signalled a return to calmer dreams.

Inconsequential, it may have seemed, had Glorfindel witnessed these disruptions. Yet, as the self appointed protector of dreams for his elfling charges, the seneschal would certainly have wondered at the potency of such thoughts, to be able to linger for so many nights.

Moreover, he would have been anxious indeed had he seen Elrohir push his face further under his brother's arm, hiding his face from the dark.

But Glorfindel was not there, and had not seen. And only the breeze was present to hear a tiny whimper creeping from between the sleeping pair, only to hang above them, before drifting, unnoticed, out in to the black.


	6. Voice of the Forest

**Title:**** 'Bridges'**

**Author:****freeflow**

**Rating:**** M**

**Disclaimer****, A/N, Summary**** See Chapter 1**

For Kali, who didn't let me forget, and darkfairy491 who was the impetus I needed to kick start my imagination. Thank you both!

Chapter 6

'Come _on_ Glorfy! We have been waiting for a long time now. Don't you have enough things_ yet?_'

The high voice swelled around the courtyard and the attending guards were forced to stifle laughter at the affronted tone. Truly, it was still early in the day, and there was no particular reason to hurry, due to the nature of the trip. However, it would seem that to three elflings, the preparations for their adventure were beginning to verge on torturous.

'Glorfy! It will be night time before we get there, and we can't hunt spiders in the dark!'

A quickly swallowed chuckle emerged from one of the stable masters as the dark haired elf supervising the packing whipped his head around.

'Spiders, Elladan? There will be no spider hunting on this trip, young one, or any other trip for a good hundred years if I have anything to say about it! Now hop off that horse you scamp and say goodbye to your Amme and Adar before we begin.'

Quickly changing from an expression of disappointment over a spiderless hunt to excitement at their imminent leave-taking, the elfling in question sprang from the back of his mount and ran to his parents' side.

'We're going, Amme, going to hunt and prowl like they do in Mirkwood. Just me and Ro and Legolas and Glorfy and 'Restor. But we'll bring you a deer back. Or a boar. Or maybe,' and here he lowered his voice and glanced sideways at his 'keeper' for the next few days, 'if we can do it fast before 'Restor sees, we'll get you a spider leg!'

Smiling at his son's excitement and the look of horror that crossed his wife's fine features, Elrond bent to the elfling's height and touched his cheek softly.

'Have fun, little one. And keep your brother and the Prince safe. That means listening to Glorfy and Erestor, and _no spider hunts_. Not this time.'

Embracing the child for a moment before he began to twist away, Elrond laughed. 'And I think your Amme would prefer flowers or pretty stones to spider legs, my son.'

Glancing from his father to Celebrian's face, Elladan nodded slowly. But still not completely deterred, he whispered again. 'We could get_ you_ a spider leg, Ada.'

Dropping to one knee and kissing the child on his forehead, Celebrian smiled at the hopeful expression there. 'Your father has seen his fair share of hideous creatures, Elladan. For you to have fun is all he desires, child. Now go help Glorfindel. It would seem that Asfaloth is a little unhappy being used as a pack horse for this trip. And be careful, my little one.'

Eyes lighting up at a reason to be around Glorfindel's white steed, Elladan barely spared a breath to shout 'Bye Amme!' before running full tilt at the disgruntled horse.

Straightening once more, the Lord and Lady of Imladris simultaneously took the other's hand, and settled back to watch as the fiery animal immediately lowered its head to nuzzle the elfling.

Smiling at each other as the sound of their eldest's laughter rippled across the courtyard, the couple moved sedately to the top of the stone steps and surveyed the scene. Glorfindel had scooped the giggling Elladan high above his head and, spinning once, placed him back on his grey pony. Erestor was visibly counting off supplies on his fingers, and had only just retired his checklist – much to Glorfindel's disappointment, as it had been the subject of much amusement upon its emergence – before turning to locate the remainder of his group.

Finding only one elfling where there had been three, Elrond chuckled as he watched his friend's eyes close slowly then rise, already weary, to meet his own. The silent question there was pleading enough to stay Elrond's mischievous side, and he chose to assist the harassed elf rather than add to his troubles. Raising his chin, the elf Lord nodded his head toward a large block of marble in the far corner of the yard, behind which the tops of two heads could just be seen. The Lord of Imladris was not certain what his youngest child and the Prince had been up to in the time they had been hiding, and did not altogether wish to find out either, but he had sensed no danger or foreboding when the two had slipped off together, so had allowed them to go.

In all fairness, the packing had proceeded far more quickly with only one little one to ask questions and run underfoot than it would have with all three, and Erestor had appreciated the reprieve, but now the pair were grinning at each other, and that did not sit well with Lord Elrond's advisor.

Calling to them both, they immediately sat up straight, and Legolas seemed to nudge something further under their stone hiding place before setting off at a run.

Celebrian gathered her son to her as he ran to her side, and wiped off some of what she supposed were biscuit crumbs that had found their way up his cheeks. Stroking his hair once, she lifted the elfling in to her arms, and watched as Elrond bent to kiss the tip of his ear. Squirming as his father knew he would, Elrohir giggled and wiped at the spot, burying his face in his mother's neck in an effort to escape.

'Ada! That tickles, Amme, tell him!'

Squeezing him once then lowering him back to the steps, Celebrian smiled at the flushed face and the hands hiding tiny tapered ears from any further attacks. Placing a hand over each of her sons', she kissed his nose, and whispered, 'Have fun, my little star,' before rising once more. Spinning at once, but keeping his hands at the sides of his head, Elrohir ran with a strange, stop-start gait, still laughing and checking behind himself to make sure his Ada was not coming to capture him again. Reaching his brothers' pony, his parents could hear him breathlessly warning Elladan that 'Ada is after our ears again!' and to watch out.

The Lord and Lady moved closer together as they watched Elladan listening to his brother's tale, and slowly edge his hands up to waist height, ready to hide his ears should the need arise. Smiling at each other, Celebrian spoke softly;

'Your sons live in terror of your next assault, my Lord. You must truly be a terrible, fearsome creature to cow your progeny so easily.'

Laughing with his wife, Elrond tossed his hair back from his face and watched as Thranduil ducked to lift his son in to his arms.

'Aye, 'tis a skill I have honed these last few years. It would appear our twin stars do have a weakness after all.'

Catching a glint in his partner's eye, Elrond turned just in time to hear a whispered, 'They take after their Ada,' before he felt a soft kiss on his own ear. Sighing softly, he smiled, and placed his own lips to his wife's forehead. Looking in to her face, both their eyes softened and they turned back to their boys, now each placed on their respective ponies. Seated safely on matching greys, the elflings were taking it in turns to inch their mount a footstep further than his twin's, both trying to be further ahead when their journey began.

'They are beautiful, Elrond. More beautiful than I ever dreamed.'

Now was Elrond's turn to smile. Wrapping an arm around his Lady's waist, he stood watching his sons over their mother's shoulder and dipped his mouth to her ear.

'And in that, they take after their Amme.'

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Nerometh took a step back as the Prince leapt in to his father's arms. Although slightly unnerved at the prospect of letting the youngest member of the Mirkwood royal family travel out of his sight for a day, the dark haired elf was nevertheless enjoying seeing the King looking so energised once more. It had been many years since Thranduil had been so… relaxed, Nerometh realised, and if he believed the little one needed this trip, then the trip would go ahead. _He certainly looks happy enough about it!_

Nero was overjoyed that his youngest Lord had embraced the Peredhil twins as friends; having so few elflings of his own age to play with, he had been worried that Legolas would not know how to act around other children. _Still, I should not have been surprised. That little one could charm a spider down from a tree and on to the point of a sword if he had the mind to…_ Nero shuddered suddenly. _Not that he will ever have the chance to test that theory, not as long as I am alive, anyway!_ The thought of the elfling anywhere near those monsters sent fear crashing through Nerometh, and he had to move forward once more just to see for himself that the Prince was safe.

Seemingly sensing the elf's discomfort, Legolas looked up from where he had been chattering to his father and looked directly at Nerometh.

'You alright, 'Meth? Your face went all funny.'

Smiling at the child, and at his father who had also turned to study the Captain, Nero placed a hand on the blond hair.

'I am fine, little Prince, but I thank you for your concern. I was merely thinking that it is time you were on your way; you would not want to miss your adventure, would you?'

Shaking his head vehemently at that, Legolas squirmed until his father set him down once more. Then, Thranduil laid a solemn hand on the small shoulder and caught his son's eyes.

'Now Legolas, remember what I said. No sneaking off to practice on your own, and you must do whatever Lord Glorfindel and Lord Erestor tell you, with no arguments. And be careful, little leaf, there may not be spiders in these woods but there are many other dangers, and I would not like to have to eat all of our honeycakes by myself.'

Laughing at his Ada's serious voice, Legolas dodged away from the hand that was now reaching to straighten his rumpled hair.

'I will Ada, but I think Glorfy's bringing some with us anyway. Honeycakes, I mean. Me and Ro saw him hiding them earlier and…'

The elfling's eyes widened as he realized what he had been saying and who to.

'Ooops, Ro'll be mad… I've got to go Ada! Everyone's waiting. Bye 'Meth, bye Ada! Save me some more cakes!'

Turning and running to his friends, and for once allowing Glorfindel to lift him on to his pony rather than leaping on to the poor creature, Legolas waved madly at his father and friend.

With a solid nudge from Glorfindel, Asfaloth took a few trudging steps forward, and stopped to snort at the load which he was being made to carry. Huffing his displeasure at the nearest elf – Erestor, which Glorfindel would later swear was coincidental and certainly nothing to do with him – the horse then lifted its head and trotted out of the courtyard with both nose and tail held high. Following the large white, Erestor allowed each of the elfling's ponies to pass him before turning to wave a goodbye at the watching parents.

Chuckling at the mixture of a reassuring smile and already strained expression on his advisor's face, Elrond raised a hand in response, and watched as the dark haired elf guided his horse out of the gateway.

Both Lord and Lady waited as Nerometh and Thranduil approached, and collectively they gave sigh of relief.

Thranduil broke the comfortable silence.

'Well my friends, I believe I shall begin the day with a stroll. Maybe later I could interest you in a little target practice, Elrond? After all, I have gone to all of the trouble of bringing some of that Dorwinion you like so much, and with no little ones to interrupt, it would be the perfect opportunity for a small wager. Would you not agree, my Lord?'

As Celebrian rolled her eyes and broke away from her husband to return to the Hall of Fire, the three elves present heard the muttered remark:

'Ah yes, because the Valar knows his secret stash is getting low.'

As she turned in to the main house, the subjects of her sarcasm looked at each other and began laughing.

'They know everything, our ladyfolk, Elrond. There is no escaping that, my friend.'

'Nay, Thranduil, and I do not believe I would want to either. Your plans certainly sound acceptable to me; would you be joining us, Nerometh? I seem to recall tell of a certain Mirkwood captain who could heart-shoot a stag from three hundred paces.'

'An exaggeration, I can assure you, my Lord, but I would be honoured to join you. My archery skills could use some… honing.'

'Ha! You are too modest Nero, and do not let him fool you Elrond. He will have three kegs of brandy from you before you can blink if you let him!'

Moving back towards the house now fully relaxed and looking forward to the day ahead, Thranduil suddenly remembered what his little leaf had said before leaving. Turning to his captain with a puzzled look on his face, he placed a hand on his friend's arm and asked:

'What did Legolas mean, Nero, by 'save me some _more_ cakes'..?'

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As the morning had flown by in a whirl of questions needing answers, and answers needing explanations, and ultimately leading one otherwise unflappable elf to the point of distraction, Glorfindel finally drew the chatter of the three elflings away from Erestor and led his pupils to the base of a tall elm tree.

Settling his back against the smooth bark, the blond elf beckoned the elflings towards him. Dropping to the ground with bright eyes searching their teacher's face for any signs of his intentions, Elrohir was the first to speak.

'Glorfy, can we go find Amme a present now? Elladan said she wants a rock or something, but we think that we could find at least a shell or butterfly for her to keep.'

'And Ada would not say no to a spider leg if we brought him one, would he Glorfy? I mean, if we just _found_ one, lying around, he would like it, wouldn't he?'

'And if we found one, then there'd probably be a few more lying about, wouldn't there Glorfy? Because spiders have lots of legs for us to keep. So my Ada could have one too. And Meth.'

Raising his hands in what Erestor later claimed looked more like supplication to the Valar than an attempt to stem the flow of words, Glorfindel waited for a pause.

'It would appear, little warriors, that you have been misinformed as to the nature of this trip. We are not here to collect rocks or shells,' here he looked at Elrohir and hurried on as the elfling made to protest, 'nor will we be searching for misplaced spider legs. The purpose of our adventure is far more serious.'

Although his face had dropped somewhat at the repeated rejection of his spider leg hunt, Elladan drew closer to his teacher with a curious glint in his eye, as he realised that maybe the blond haired elf had something better in mind. After all, serious was often the same as dangerous, and dangerous was always more fun than any of the games that Ada let them play.

'Serious Glorfy? Are you going to teach us warrior things? Things that Ada knows about?'

Inclining his head gravely, the seneschal nodded his affirmation.

'Indeed, Elladan. This is to be a warrior training exercise, and the winner at the end of the day will receive... something special.'

'Something special? Like what Glorfy? Is it something we can play with? Or, or, something to play with? Or...'

'Something to eat!'

Laughing at the two bouncing elflings before him, Glorfindel once more signalled for calm.

'Ah, Prince Legolas, Elrohir, I would have thought that the two of you have had enough to eat already this morning.' Raising both eyebrows at his audience, he watched as both dark and light haired elflings abruptly fell still and silent, whilst Elladan immediately whirled on his 'friends'.

'You did eat those honey cakes! I knew I should not have told you where Glorfy had put them. And you didn't even save me one!'

Now both elflings looked chastised, and Legolas began to glance at the surrounding trees, seemingly planning his escape in to their comforting branches.

'It is not important Elladan, as there are still plenty more treats to share out. Now let us not spoil this day with arguments and blame. Who would like to be first to try the warrior challenge?'

As three excited voices filled the air, both Erestor and Glorfindel smiled at each other. This may originally have been planned to allow their parents some measure of rest, but both elves could see that the trip was just as significant to the little ones. The freedom and energy found amongst the trees would refresh even the most hard hearted of elves, and to elflings, the effects were almost luminescent. And if they were honest, both elves would admit that sharing the forest with elflings was the purest way to experience the work of the Valar at its most magical.

Erestor, his normally stoic features softened and content, did not make any attempt to calm the little ones. _Let Glorfindel work them in to __a frenzy__. I shall leave it up to him to control them when they are at their most rambunctious, and later, when it is time to return, they will be too exhausted to cause a __fuss._ Nodding to himself in a decisive fashion, the dark haired elf began arranging their small camp, letting the ponies and horses loose to graze and throwing down blankets to serve as a seating area for their mealtimes. Erestor was well aware that neither Glorfindel nor the young ones were interested in food; with the prospect of adventure hanging over their heads, each of his charges – both young and old enough to know better – would happily overlook both lunch and dinner in order to explore. Still, the elf had decided that if it took all of his considerable diplomatic skills to do so, his little group would all sit down and eat a pleasant, _quiet_ meal before they had to return to Imladris.

_After all, just because they are outside of the Last Homely House does not mean that all propriety can simply be ignored. These little ones were, after all, the next generation of elven royalty, and I will be sure to remind them of that fact._

Smiling once more as a chorus of shrieks attracted Erestor's attention to a pile of small wriggling bodies, he allowed a slight concession.

_Well, maybe for this day, the __need for absolute propriety__ can be__... flexible.__ It is an adventure, after all..._

Sighing heavily and tugging the final blanket in to place, the elf straightened his back, looked up at the sun and offered silent thanks to the Valar for the gift of these elflings. Then, slowly turning to the giggling, heaving mass in the centre of the clearing, prayed first for assistance in the rescue of his golden haired companion, and second, for protection from joining Glorfindel beneath three squealing, tickling whirlwinds.

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'Ai, Nerometh! Had I but known of your prowess with the bow before our wager, I surely would have chosen a different course of action. Blades maybe, although I do believe that even then I would have struggled to keep my Dorwinion beyond the first bout.'

Tucking a stray lock of dark hair back behind his ear, the captain of Mirkwood's royal contingent inclined his head.

'I apologise if you feel I have misled you my Lord, it was not my intention...'

'Nonsense my friend! Thranduil gave me fair warning as to your skills, and yet I could not resist the temptation of adding to my brandy collection. Your abilities do both yourself and your people credit, Nerometh.' Reaching out to pat the victor of their archery contest on the shoulder, Elrond smiled at his guests. 'It would seem however, that we have lost track of time. If we do not return soon, I fear my Lady will dine without us, and I would rather not waste the occasion of an elflingless evening, rare as it is.'

Laughing at the hint of anxiety in his friend's eyes, Thranduil tossed his blond locks behind him in an easy movement. The afternoon had passed quickly for the elves, with their wager occupying much of their attention and the comfort of familiar company to share old memories with. Now, however, with the sunlight beginning to wane, the Lord of Imladris seemed to be regretting leaving his wife alone for so long. _After all, it is not so often that we can spend time away from the twins, and a full day spent gambling and reminiscing may not __have been the best way to fill that time..._ Yet as Elrond wandered back towards the main building, he could not help but smile at the contentment on his friend's face. A glance at Nerometh only solidified his assessment; the King had not been so at ease in a long while, and his friend and captain was grateful to have been able to see it once more.

'Ah, worry not Elrond. When Cel hears that you spent the day betting on archery and cavorting with elves of a less than stellar reputation,' here he patted Nerometh on the back and laughed at his friend's astonished expression, ' - present company excepted, naturally Nero – she will not be wrathful my Lord.'

Now was Elrond's turn to be astonished, and his feeling of nervousness increased as the dire facts being presented to him seemed far worse when spoken aloud.

'And how may I ask, has your Highness come to such a conclusion?'

With both dark haired elves looking at him as though he was unstable, Thranduil could not help but laugh.

'Because my friend, I know the Lady Celebrian well enough to know that although you have spent the day with elves of ill repute – once more Nero, I speak not of yourself – she will not mind terribly. For she herself spent many of her younger days in that same company, and has not shown any signs of deviancy.'

Smiling alongside his King, Nerometh shook his head and murmured, 'Although there is still time.'

Hearing that comment as clearly as he did, Thranduil nudged Nerometh and cleared his throat before turning back to Elrond.

'Cel knows my habits quite well Elrond, and I am well aware that you organised the elflings' little adventure in order to give me a day to myself. I am sure that she would not begrudge me your company and our diversion, so long as she is able to see the effects at tonight's meal.'

Smiling softly at Thranduil's convoluted attempt to acknowledge their efforts and thank him for the day, Elrond met his friend's gaze and held it. 'She will see, Thranduil, and it will gladden her heart that we could bring some peace to you and your little one, if only for a time,' taking in a deep breath, the Lord of Imladris turned back towards his home, 'yet I do not believe she will be so agreeable to our choice of activities.'

Now Thranduil let out a chuckle as the intimate mood of the previous moment flowed warmly around them. 'Ai, Elrond, married for so long and still you cannot read your wife. Do you not realise how she will see today?'

Elrond's brow creased in puzzlement at the blond elf's words and shook his head.

'I cannot see how Celebrian will be pleased with us, my friend. Simply thinking of explaining our absence is making me anxious. How can you be so joyful about the prospect?'

'Because Elrond, although we have spent the afternoon gambling, nothing has come of it.'

'I beg to differ Sire; if I may, I shall be returning to Mirkwood with six bottles of Dorwinion brandy.'

'I must agree with your captain Thranduil. I now have four less bottles in my stock than when you arrived, and you are only three days in to your visit!'

Laughing aloud, Thranduil's face practically glowed with mirth.

'Do you not see Elrond? Not only did you not acquire any extra brandy, you actually lost six bottles. That will make Cel happy to begin with. And, if I know her at all, she will also be so shrewd as to have realised that if you were to lose in today's games, then you are far less likely to spend another such day away gambling. For your Lady wife, today could not have worked out much better.'

With comprehension slowly gracing the elf Lord's face, he huffed out a sigh.

'Alas, my friends, I do believe that even before we arranged our wager, my wife will have calculated the odds. And whichever way the result fell, she most certainly would have been triumphant.'

Nodding his head sagely, Nerometh agreed.

''Tis true my Lord, before we can even feel the rain, our womenfolk have already thatched the roof and prepared for the storm. It is a mystery made by the Valar to puzzle us for all eternity.'

Sighing happily, Thranduil raised his eyes to the sky, almost as if searching for a rain cloud.

'Ah, but it is the most wondrous puzzle, my friends, the most wondrous.'

Having made their way almost to the steps of the Last Homely House, Nerometh paused as he noticed the still tense expression on the face of their host.

'My Lord Elrond? Does some matter still trouble you?'

Attention drawn to the dark haired elf, Thranduil's eyebrows drew down in concern.

'Surely you are not truly worried about Celebrian, Elrond? I know we stayed out a little later than planned but...'

Waving a placating hand, the Peredhil shook his head.

'Nay, my friends, I have felt discomfited for the past few moments but had merely thought it to be the prospect of facing Celebrian after our abandonment of her this afternoon. But, this feeling, it is not... it does not feel... I cannot explain it. It is almost as if it were... removed somehow. Distant, and I cannot say it better...'

As Elrond struggled to find words to describe his thoughts, all three elves attention was suddenly drawn to the main door of the building, where running footsteps followed by the sound of a collision and breaking crockery only narrowly preceded the emergence of a white faced Celebrian.

'Elrond! Elrond! My babies, Elrond, my babies! They are crying Elrond, they are scared and calling for me!'

As suddenly as his wife had appeared, the feelings flying through Elrond's mind became clarified. Reaching out to grip Celebrian's arms, he almost fell back from the power of those emotions, magnified through the daughter of Galadriel and doubled by her own terror.

Feeling a hand on his shoulder, Elrond tore his eyes from his wife's and turned to see Nerometh with hand on sword hilt, stance ready to run upon any order thrown his way. Reading the need to act in the other elf's face, and recognising it as the same feelings pulsed through his body, Elrond caught Thranduil's wild eyed glare.

'What is it, Elrond?! Cel, what is wrong with the twins? What of Legolas, is he...'

Suddenly, the King of Mirkwood's face crumpled, and hands flying up to his ears, he dropped to one knee in what looked to be agony.

Healer instincts rushing in to battle with paternal, Elrond grabbed Celebrian's hand and pulled her down next to his friend, only just managing to keep his wife from running head long in to the forest at that very moment.

Placing a gentle but shaking hand over one of the King's, Elrond tried to see what would cause such a reaction. Insect bite? He had seen nothing, but then he had been distracted and...

'Your Highness, please, what is wrong? We have to move out, Sire, you must give the order to retrieve the elflings. Your Highness...'

Seeing that both elven Lord and King were presently in a state of shocked inaction, Nerometh forced himself forward, between Thranduil and Elrond. Leaning in close to his King's face, Nero used the sentence that he knew would have the greatest affect.

'Thranduil, King of Greenwood the Great, to arms! Prince Legolas needs you.'

The effect was instantaneous.

Hands dropping to the grass, Thranduil was crouched on one knee, head cocked to the side, as though listening to something.

Then, with all the grace gifted to the Eldar by the Valar themselves, he rose to his feet, drawing Elrond, and in turn, Celebrian with him. Looking in to the Peredhil's eyes, the fire there was sufficient to ignite Elrond's shocked mind in to action. Then, lifting one hand to Celebrian's cheek, Nerometh watched as the two old friends took comfort and then strength from the other.

As one, the three turned towards the stables, Elrond calling his guards to his side, as Nerometh signalled for the first elf he recognised to gather his contingent.

Still, as focused as the elves had suddenly become, Nerometh could not forget his liege's momentary collapse. Drawing alongside the now mounted King, his captain asked in a hushed voice;

'Are you recovered now my Lord? I know the shock has been great, but perhaps you should remain and I shall lead our...'

The dismissal would have seemed curt in other circumstances, but Nerometh could not fault his King for the abruptness in his tone.

'Nay, Nerometh. I ride to my son, and no one shall prevent me from finding him and bringing him back to where he is safe. No one.'

Bowing his head, Nerometh retreated to his own mount, yet urged his horse to match the King's steed in rapidity. So close was he to his King, in fact, that he was able to catch the mutters that the blond elf was repeating over and over to himself.

'That noise, the noise, so loud, so loud. Cannot think, cannot stop, so loud, please do not stop, we need you to help, help them, please, please help us...'

Reaching out to his long time friend, Nero threw aside propriety and Thranduil's status in his sudden fear.

'My Lord, what is this noise you speak of? Why does it pain you so? I do not understand, please my Lord, tell me what you hear.'

And as the party of elven warriors streamed out of the gates of Imladris, Nerometh was the only one to catch a glimpse of the tear that slipped from Thranduil's eye.

'Do you not hear it Nero? Can you not hear them? They cry out to me, every one of them, each with a different voice calling my name. Of pain and tears and desperate frustration, they call to me Nero. And only I can hear. My little leaf and I. They weep for us both, and shriek at me to hurry, to help him, to help the little ones and I cannot bear it. It hurts, to hear them thus. They are my support and my glory, my grandest belonging and greatest wealth, and I named my youngest for them. Now they cry out to save him, the one who can speak in their voice, and I cannot bring myself to listen. For what wood elf could bear to hear the screams of the trees?'


	7. Elflings and Escape Routes

**Title:**** 'Bridges'**

**Author:****freeflow**

**Rating:**** M**

**Disclaimer****, A/N, Summary**** See Chapter 1**

**With thanks to ****sehellys**** for reminding me that another chapter was very much overdue!**

**Sorry, a shorter chapter this time, but I'm hoping the next one will be up much quicker. And this one just seemed to end itself!**

Chapter 7

'And when we get back, Ada will put it in his bed chambers, along with Amme's flowers, so they can see them every morning.'

Erestor smiled as he busied himself by the food parcels, listening distractedly to the chatter of Elrond's youngest.

_Although it is a wonder he can concentrate enough to keep his line of thought with such noise coming from his brother and friend._

Reminded of the other two elflings, the dark haired seneschal glanced over to check that the mischief makers had not strayed too far from camp. He sighed as he spotted the mud patches on both small sets of leggings, and the scuff marks down the left side of both Elladan's boots.

_Ai, leave them alone for two moments and their whole wardrobe is destroyed. Well, I suppose the Lady Celebrian has grown used to it by now… _Now Erestor brushed one dark braid behind his ear and settled back on the grass, tilting his head in mirth. _And if not, I believe I could mend the garments, should the need arise. T__ruly, it is worth it to see the little ones so carefree_

The trees themselves seemed to hum in agreement with the elf's thoughts, and many lower branches swept down to hang closer to the infectious giggling. The years had not been cruel to the woods of Imladris, and the leaves there traversed the colours of the seasons amidst ever-present elf song, yet elflings… Elflings were different again. Born by the will of the Valar and encapsulating all that was pure and wholly good, young elves had not learned to live in awe of the forests. Although innately attached to trees, elflings showed their naivety, an openness that even elves could not possess once grown to maturity. Whilst elves cared for and felt deeply bonded to each individual oak and ash, elflings loved the trees. They were each a friend, confidante and shelter, playmate, climbing frame and hiding place.

Should these elflings need, the trees would happily answer.

Comforted by the watchful presence of the wood, Erestor turned once more to the remaining elfling, and his new found throne.

Gesturing wildly with fingers, hands and eyes, the dark haired elf listened with sunshine in his heart to the tales of Elrond's past great deeds, as told by his youngest child.

_Although I never realized that my Lord had fought the entire army of __Sauron__ quite by himself…_

His captive audience, on the other hand was not able to simply sit by and listen. Leaning against a solid rowan trunk, Glorfindel had been happy to accommodate Elrohir's quiet request to sit with him. Since the incident in the Hall of Fire some days earlier, and the still occasional night terror, the youngest Peredhil had become less boisterous, and stayed noticeably closer to those he considered to be safe. Glorfindel, Erestor, Elrond and Celebrian had had little time alone over the last few days, and although none would begrudge the child anytime in their company, the older elves were concerned over his obvious insecurities.

With the arrival of Legolas, the tendency to remain indoors or near an adult had lessened, and his family were grateful to the Mirkwood contingent for welcoming two rather mischievous elflings in to their midst, believing it would be helpful for the pair, and especially Elrohir, and may help encourage him to fall back to his usual contented self. Yet, out in the woods and away from his Ada and Amme for the first time since the incident, Elrohir sought comfort from his father's personal warrior.

Now, with legs folded before him, Glorfindel rested his chin lightly on a sun warmed dark head, feeling the reverberation of the child's voice across his face, tickling his nose. Elrohir seemed unaware of the affects of his voice, and stopped only to breathe between sentences or to press back a little when he felt a response was required from his cushion. Small legs were thrown over the elf's crossed shins, and the soft boots bounced in rhythm with his monologue.

Watching from the now laid out meal area, Erestor smiled as he watched the elfling play with Glorfindel's fingers during a more calm moment of storytelling, and then begin to use both sets of hands to act out what would appear to be a dragon flying though the afternoon air.

_Or an eagle, perhaps.__Or a__n arrow in flight._He snorted in amusement. _With these elflings, he could very well be showing Elrond soaring to the rescue on the back of a winged __mumakil__. And Glorfindel would not discourage such fanciful notions either! In fact, I rather suspect that he is the source of many of their strange ideas. Still, if it makes the little one happy…_

'Elladan, Legolas, come and wash yourselves before we begin our meal. And do not look at me so, little one, you know very well that even eating outside is no excuse for hands as filthy as those!'

Scowling powerfully at Erestor's decree, and with a muttered, 'warriors don't mind a little dirt', the pair hastily tipped some of their water supply over their hands and rinsed their faces with a wet cloth provided by their taskmaster. Satisfied with the results, Erestor then made his way to the now quiet Elrohir. Bending before both elf and elfling, entwined as the two were, the dark haired elf reached out with one hand and stroked the young ones face.

'Are you ready for some food, Elrohir? We have fruit and bread, and maybe, if certain elflings are very good, a surprise for afterwards.'

Smiling at his father's advisor, Elrohir nodded, but then began to giggle.

'S'not a surprise now, 'Restor, we know you've brought some honey cakes. But we'd still like some, even if we know they're coming!'

Glad to see the quick witted nature of the elfling was returning now he was safe in Glorfindel's arms, Erestor responded in kind.

'Oho, so you know about my surprise already, do you? Well, I suppose Lord Glorfindel and I will have to eat all of the cakes ourselves then, would you not agree my Lord?'

Happy to hear Elrohir's true self reappear, Glorfindel responded to the question while simultaneously tickling his captive's sides.

'Aye, Lord Erestor, it is only fair, as these young ones do not seem to appreciate that surprises are supposed to be kept…' here he leaned forward in to the ear of the gasping elfling, and where he had been whispering, he now cried out, '…a secret!'

Throwing the elfling in to the air, the giggles grew in to shrieks and soon two more elfling attackers had joined the fray. Trapped now beneath three opponents, Glorfindel could do nothing but collapse once more, and yield.

'I surrender, little warriors, for without any repast to sustain me, I am too weak to fight off such a strong offense.'

Seeing the little ones looking a little puzzled, Erestor smiled and translated;

'He is hungry, and cannot hope to win until lunch is eaten.'

With a yelp at the sudden remembrance of the food, Glorfindel was immediately released and the meal attacked with the same vigour as the golden haired elf had been. As the sounds of laughter and breaking bread rose in to the forest air, the trees once more breathed a sigh of contentment, and swung low to join their elven friends.

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Hoof beats and snorting were all that could be heard. Not as light or fair as the elves were in flight, these invaders to the forest trampled underfoot all that was good and green.

Paying little heed to wildlife or vegetation, the group pressed on, driven by hunger and necessity. None noticed the trees pulling their boughs from the path, or the sighs that preceded them, swept off by the wind. But a single hand movement from the lead rider had immediate effect, and each individual pulled to an abrupt halt.

Striving to sense that which had caused the delay, each ear twisted to the sound of prey or profit. Even above the heavy panting of the horses and the groaning of the wind, they heard it.

The sound of laughter.

A fair sound.

A longed for sound.

One that people would pay to keep.

Two more hand signals, and the group split. No longer noisy and brutish, but stealthy and organised, their approach screamed of danger.

And the trees, watching these strangers advance, joined in the cry.

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Each head in the small merry group snapped in one direction as the whispers of the trees changed in timbre. Whilst the elves rose, Glorfindel striding to his horse and his waiting sword, Erestor pulling the elflings to him in one swift movement, the young ones covered their tapered ears. Whilst the twins simply wanted to block out the fear of the trees before it spread to them, Legolas was clutching his head in pain. Turning to bury his face in Erestor's tunic, the little prince began to shout back at the trees, begging them to stop, to be quiet, to make sense. Doubly distressed by the blond elfling's reaction and his urgent need to get the young ones to safety, Erestor decided that first things first. Dropping to one knee, he pulled the elflings hands from his ears and peered in to the scrunched face.

'Legolas, listen to me, the trees are just warning us, it is nothing to be scared of. Surely you have heard them speak to you before now, little one?'

But the tears pouring down the pale face showed Erestor that the problem was much more than fear. The child was in pain.

'No 'Restor, they're screaming, can't you hear them screaming? Hundreds and hundreds of them, all their voices shouting and weeping and I can't get them to stop, they won't stop!'

Taken aback by the sheer conviction of the words, Erestor suddenly realized his mistake. _This is the son of Thranduil, the child named for the trees. Always has the monarchy of Mirkwood had a close bond with nature, but this elfling, the last of the royal line is doubly blessed._ Yet looking once more in to the streaming eyes, he had to amend that. _Or doubly cursed, in this instance.__Ai,__ and the child has not yet learned to block them out, nor even to filter them! In time he would have developed some defenses, but he is too young, they are all too young…_

Raising his eyes to take in the terrified faces of his own Lord's children, Erestor made his move. The trees were crying of dangers from more than one side, but all from the ground. No chance of escape then, but…

'Lord Erestor! Get the elflings on Asfaloth. He will take care of them.'

Shaking his head in indecision, Erestor met Glorfindel's pained eyes.

'I do not believe escape is an option any more, my Lord. We must hide them in the trees, and fight ourselves.'

'There is no where they can go my Lord, we chose this place for that very reason, so they could not get lost. Now set them on horseback, it is our only…'

The rest of Glorfindel's statement was cut off by the whining whistle of an arrow slicing through the air. Scything past Glorfindel's left boot and effectively cutting him and his route back to the elflings off, he bellowed,

'The horses! Get them to the horses!'

He whirled back to face his opponents, and Erestor watched in silent awe as he batted the next two arrows in to the ground, using only the flat of his sword.

A tug on his tunic snapped him back to the task at hand, and away from the now clanging blows of swordplay behind him.

Grabbing the closest elfling, Elladan, Erestor ran the two steps to his own large mount and set the small figure on the top. Taking a second to cup the frightened face with a soft palm, Ersetor spun back to scoop up the next child, Legolas. Yet as time slowed down and the sun ceased to shine, Erestor's elven eyes picked up the movement of an arrow shaft, cruelly sharpened and fletched for maximum velocity. He tracked the passage of a single arrow past his own face, inches from the elfling's nose and just as quickly, unforeseen in to the world beyond.

As respiration once more took over and a gasping gulp made the elf clutch his precious bundle even tighter, he caught a glimpse of Elrohir's face.

The child was staring, expressionless at the ground behind his guardian, past his new playmate, past the horse, and, it seemed to Erestor, past even the fabric of Middle Earth itself.

And as the elf lord tracked the child's line of view, his very soul was broken in to uncountable pieces as he caught sight of the child he had believed to be safe.

Lying beyond his now slain mount, his body twisted by the trunk of the closest tree, lay Elladan, son of Elrond, heir of Imladris. And as his brother screamed out his name and Erestor dragged his charges to their fallen friend, shielding them with his very self, the elfling did not move. Save a drop of red, which trickled down his still cheek, and fell to the forest floor.


	8. Mistakes and Menfolk

**Title:**** 'Bridges'**

**Author:****freeflow**

**Rating:**** T**

**Disclaimer****, A/N, Summary**** See Chapter 1**

**For my new reviewers, and those who have been with Bridges from the start. Thank you all!**

Chapter 8

Even as he dispatched two of his hooded opponents and whirled to deflect a wild swipe from a third, Glorfindel felt all breath leave his body. The sheer pain and desperate confusion in the cry behind him ripped through the surreal battleground the clearing had become, and in an instant, his eyes cleared of the glazed warrior film that had descended upon the start of the fight.

'Elladan!?'

No longer was he Glorfindel, slayer of balrogs, tactical genius and leader of Imladris' elite guard; no longer was he immersed in the destruction of each figure that rushed towards him; no longer could he maintain the calm efficiency that dealing death induced in him. For suddenly, each enemy was trying to hurt the little ones, each shadowed face was smiling at the elflings fear, each vicious hand was the one that had fired the arrow…

_The arrow that you were too slow to __catch,__ too caught up in your bloodlust to stop. And now the little one lies __bleeding__ in to the dust as his twin screams in terror, and still they are in danger. Think, Glorfindel, think! This cannot be allowed to continue!_

Yet the figures still streamed from the trees, and only his quick feet and quicker hands were keeping his remaining charges safe. The situation was swiftly moving from dangerous to untenable, and the golden haired warrior had had enough. Instead of striking his next opponent dead, he used his forward momentum to spring up and over the figures right shoulder, trailing his sword behind him. Landing securely on both feet, the elf did not even turn to see the condition of his vaulting aid, as his blade had dragged a gouge deep in to the side of his opponent's neck. Only the sound of a gagging form hitting the forest floor marked Glorfindel's passage, and not a single tapered ear in the clearing paid it any heed.

Now with a clear path to Erestor and the elflings, Glorfindel took advantage of the awed lull in attackers as each hooded figure seemed to stop and take in the last thrashing seconds of their associate.

Racing to the huddled group of elfling and elf, the already pale faced being slid to a shocked halt, any remaining colour draining from his cheeks.

'Erestor?'

The almost undetectable whisper was still enough to garner the attention of the other elf, and teary eyes snapped to this new threat. Yet instead of recognizing Glorfindel and showing relief at the others presence, Lord Elrond's advisor rose to his feet with fury on his face.

'You see what your plan has wrought? I told you the trees were our only option, they could at least have sheltered the elflings somewhat. But no, it was your way or nothing, the word of the mighty Lord Glorfindel overrules all others. And look, look at the outcome!'

As he spat the last words, he took a staggered step towards the warrior, thrusting a small form in to the sight of the golden haired elf. Yet before he could finish his abrupt movement, two pairs of small hands grabbed on to the back of his tunic, and Erestor had either to stop, or wrench himself away from the terrified elflings that cowered behind him. With a sigh of utter anguish, Glorfindel walked towards the group and raised his hands to take the small figure lying limp within Erestor's protective grasp. As expected, the arms tightened and Erestor turned his body away from the seneschal's as if to shield the elfling he carried from any more of Glorfindel's poor decisions.

Taking a moment to check on the whereabouts of their attackers, Glorfindel was slightly pleased to realize that the opposing group had drawn back in to the trees. Yet he was not fooled. The violent and rather over dramatic death of his last adversary may have given the others pause for thought, but this was a purposeful withdrawal. In moments, they would reorganise their positions, and the attack would begin anew.

They had no time to argue or place blame, this was a time for action.

'Lord Erestor, we have moments until they return. Now give Elladan to me and take the little ones up in to this tree while we still have any choice. Later, we can debate my actions until the sky turns purple should you so wish, but at this time, our priority is the elflings. Now, my Lord, it must be now!'

Suitably chastised but nowhere near mollified, Erestor turned to his companion and with the most gentle of hands passed the wilted body to Glorfindel's solid grasp. Without making eye contact with the other elf, Erestor then spun to the other elflings, and without a word, scooped them up in either arm. Leaning his head against the bark of the solid oak tree for a moment, dark hair hiding the look of desperation on his face, Erestor beseeched the tree to help him and the little ones in their time of need. So it was, when he leapt to the lowest branch, the boughs were there to steady him, and swept lower to enable his ascent.

Breathing a sigh of frustration mixed with relief at Erestor's wordless compliance and the now relative safety of the elflings, Glorfindel turned his attention to Elladan. Kneeling on one leg, the other used to support the flaccid form, the golden haired warrior could have wept with torment.

Half of the tiny face was streaked with red, which still dripped freely from a gash in his hair line. The beginnings of a bruise were forming over the too pale face, and the dark braids, once unraveling from too much play and boisterous mischief were hanging tangled, matted with dirt and dried blood. Quickly ripping the base of his tunic with one hand, Glorfindel folded the material in to a soft pad and pressed firmly on the cut. A whimper from deep in the elflings throat reached Glorfindel's sharp ears, and he ducked his head to place a kiss on the tender forehead.

'I am sorry, little one, but the bleeding needs to stop. I know it hurts, but we will be going home soon, and your Ada will fix everything. Alright, my little warrior? Just hold on, Elladan.' A vision of Elrohir and Legolas' wide eyes as Erestor leapt in to the tree above played over again in Glorfindel's mind. _Ai, I tried to ignore the looks on their faces. I am becoming too emotional, too involved to think straight. One of the first rules of warfare is…_

Shaking his head in outright anger, Glorfindel rose to his feet once more.

_This is not war! This is an attack on my Lord's family in his own __lands,__ it is an affront to all that we held as sacred and secure. This is the injuring of babes__ for the profit of others. And by __Manwë__ himself, I have a right to be angry! _Hoisting the small body higher on his shoulder, Glorfindel saw the first of the regrouped attackers slip in to the clearing, obviously hoping to avoid being seen. But with Glorfindel's rage pounding through his ears also came the experience of a warrior who had fought countless enemies over millennia. The crackling of snapping grass, the slide of a boot over discarded picnic basket, the swipe of a hand reaching under a cape for the blade concealed within. Glorfindel could see his battleground and the position of each of the combatants without even opening his eyes.

_First things first, however._

Leaping in to the tree with the sure footed nature of his kind, Glorfindel raced to the side of Erestor, and finally allowed himself to see the faces of their young charges.

Immediately upon stopping, Glorfindel was bombarded by a blond steak, which attached itself to his side, winding fingers in to the torn material there. Reaching down and lifting Legolas in to his free arm, he felt those same fingers wind in to his hair, and the little face bury sniffled sobs in to the side of his neck.

Unable to offer further comfort to the elfling, Glorfindel simply walked to Elrohir and Erestor and crouched beside them, softly rubbing the small back as he went. _I suppose my hair is closest in shade to his father's. And although he will not admit it, this little elfling simply wants his __Ada_ A wave of sadness washed over the golden haired warrior as he wished that he could grant the little one's unspoken need.

Offering Elladan back to Erestor's careful arms, Glorfindel reached for Elrohir. Falling almost bonelessly in to the seneschal's grip, the youngest twin buried his face in Glorfindel's tunic and began to wail.

'Glorfy, they're bad people, bad, and they hurt Dan, and his head hurts inside mine, and he won't wake up and talk to me! And, and, Las wants his Ada, and I want my Ada and Amme too, but they aren't here, and the trees keep screaming and won't leave Legolas alone. I want to go home, Glorfy, I want to go home! Can we go home now?'

Leaning back from the distraught elfling and seeing the pinched look in his eyes even as they flowed with tears, Glorfindel recalled the pertinent parts of Elrohir's diatribe.

'You can feel Elladan's hurt, little one? Oh, I know it is sore, but just think, if you are feeling it, then you know that Elladan is too, and just have to wait for him to wake up now. And yes, little one, we are going home. But first, Lord Erestor and I have to clear the way. Can you wait for us up here?'

Turning his attention to include both of the elflings in his arms, Glorfindel nudged the top of the blond head still buried in his neck until both sets of perfect eyes were regarding him intently.

'Now, Lord Erestor and I need you both to be very brave and to take care of Elladan for us, until we come back, alright? We will not be gone long, but you must not come down from this tree until one of us comes for you, do you understand? Little warriors?'

Waiting for a solemn nod from each elfling, Glorfindel kissed each smooth forehead and placed the two back on their feet. Leading them to the centre of the tree, he pulled them in to sit either side of Elladan, whom Erestor had tucked as securely as possible between the base of three branches and the main trunk.

Taking a moment to reach out to the helpless elfling, Glorfindel removed his makeshift bandage and was distressed to see the gash still weeping slightly. Ripping a new piece of material from his shrinking tunic, he threw the bloodied rag to the forest floor below in disgust, and gently applied the new pad. Then, turning to Legolas, took the Prince's hand and placed it firmly over the wound.

Immediately, Elrohir whimpered and pressed a hand to his forehead, but did not make any further complaints. Instead, he turned and snuggled in to his brother's side, holding his hand and whispering to him in twinnish, a language that no one else could ever hope to understand.

Stroking the back of both little heads, and placing a kiss on Elladan's warm brow, Glorfindel bowed his own and prayed to the Valar for guidance and protection. Then, feeling a hand on his shoulder, he turned to Erestor, and finally making eye contact with the other elf, they each nodded.

As one, they rose, and looking one last time at the three elflings sitting huddled together, they moved away, back down the tree. Before they had reached the bottom, however, Glorfindel heard a whisper from his dark haired counterpart that drifted back up to where they had left their hearts.

'Look after each other, little ones.'

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Violent whispers sliced between low hanging boughs, succinct hand movements splitting the gathered forms in to purposeful, targeted groups.

Four hanging back on horses, waiting, just waiting for their cargo to be delivered.

The signal came, sharp and precise, answered only by a lowering of heads and a murmur of prayers.

Pushing aside straining leaves and grasping branches, they advanced.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Their horses were gasping and heaving, sides billowing and necks straining as they thundered down the dusty path. The trees swayed and moaned as the party passed by, and the wind carried the despair of the woodland creatures to the ears of each elf.

Yet none paid any heed as their destination loomed ever closer.

'Elrond, what do you now feel? The little ones, how do they fare?'

Thranduil's forced question was bellowed over the hoof beats of his exhausted mount, and each of the company leaned in to hear the response.

But the answer never arrived, as in pausing to formulate a reply which he knew could only serve to exacerbate an already explosive situation, Elrond was spared by a sudden scent on the breeze.

The wailing grew louder in the minds of those gathered, and as one they realized what they had caught wind of.

'By the Valar, it is burning, the trees are burning!'

The growling whisper spilled from Nerometh's frozen lips, and the horses, stretching further than any had thought possible, sprang forward once more.

The scene that they encountered in the clearing - chosen specially by Erestor for its safe foliage and colourful flora - would not be soon forgotten by any who travelled with the Lord and Lady of Imladris that day.

Spread in slumped clusters bloodied corpses were strewn, the scattered limbs and tattered clothing creating a grotesque pattern of desperate swordplay. The trunks of surrounding trees were stained with red, and every lower branch had slash marks, weeping clear liquid in to the sullied earth below. The stench of exposed and charred flesh mingled with the sour, back of the throat taste of bowels released in death, overwhelming the elven senses and causing many a hardened warrior to turn their heads and breathe through gritted teeth.

The crackling of a now smoldering stump sputtered its sorrow and guilt at the new arrivals, before fading in to oblivion. Where a solid oak had stood for a thousand years, now a charred stain and dead roots were all that remained.

But the eyes of the elves did not linger on those dead or dismembered. As instinctively as any of the Firstborn race would seek out the stars in the night sky, or a patch of green in the desert, the members of Elrond's impromptu rescue party spread out in to the clearing, silent and efficient, skipping over cleaved off hands and hewn torsos as though they were nothing more than debris.

Desperation played a large part in the search, and was certainly visible in the faces of each parent in the clearing. Striding from one side to the other with fury and agony palpable in his expression, Thranduil began to bellow to his youngest child.

'Legolas! Legolas, where are you? Come out now, your Ada is here! Legolas! Please my son, answer me! If you are hiding in the trees, you can come back to the clearing, it is safe little one!' His cries lost none of the volume, yet as he continued, the timbre grew more and more shaky, the words less cohesive and the message all the more plaintive. Each elf within hearing range felt their throats constrict at the sounds, the fear and longing striking deep in to their immortal souls.

'Legolas? Please son, I beg of you, answer me! We are here, Ada is here… Legolas? Legolas!'

Unable to take anymore of his leader's outpouring of pain, Nerometh pressed a firm hand to the King's shoulder, and spoke in sober tones.

'Sire, he is not here. None of the children are. But the enemy may still be close by, and we need…'

Batting the hand aside, Thranduil spun in rage to face his captain. With the magic and power of every tree in the forests of Greenwood at his command, and simmering just below his visage, the blond elf transformed from frightened father to terrifying ruler in the blink of an eye.

'Need?! My child is missing and you speak to me of the need to hold my tongue?! The enemy may well be near, _Captain_, but the chance of my elfling being anywhere near this Valar-forsaken place, lying hurt or injured within my reach is a risk I am not willing to take!' Heaving in three sharp breaths, Thranduil closed his eyes for a moment. Then, raising his head and once more meeting his friend's pained gaze, he hissed out;

'If the enemy is near, then let them hear my calls. Let them ride to me, an army one thousand strong. And we shall see who is victorious. We shall see the worth of my Greenleaf to me. We shall see how many I would kill to have him safe with me once more.'

Striding past Nerometh and back towards his waiting horse, Nero heard his final utterance, and felt a chill overcome his whole being.

'When we find who has done this, yes, then we shall see. They shall see.'

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For Elrond of Rivendell, the sum of painful experiences in his long life was not meager. Privileged among elves he may well have become, but for an elf who had lost both parents before even leaving his childhood behind, then a twin to mortality and a father-figure to war against the dark lord, his catalogue of pain was well founded to say the least.

But the sight of the disaster he encountered in the clearing – _the clearing where my children were playing, laughing and eating just a short while ago_ – cut all previous experiences from his memory. Nothing in all of his years could have prepared him for the axe blow to the chest that accompanied this tragedy.

And tragedy it was.

The blood he could smell was a mixture of elf and human, and both races he held dear to his heart. The carnage that lay around them did nothing to encourage him, although it was clearly a bloodbath for the opposing side - Glorfindel's swordwork and Erestor's knife skills evident to anyone who could stomach looking closely at one of the fallen – they had been mortal, living creatures, and now they lay in pieces in a nameless clearing far from home.

And then immediately, he felt a surge of guilt. His children had been here, Glorfindel and Erestor had been fighting to protect his sons, Thranduil's son. He should not think of these, these _things_ as human, for they had wished his sons harm. _And they may well have delivered it too, you sentimental fool. And then how would you feel, Elrond __HalfElven__? Would you still see men lying in this camp? Still see husbands and brothers here? Or would you do as Thranduil is doing, as Glorfindel did, as __Celeborn__ would should he learn of his grandsons danger__. Would you cut down the rest of the perpetrators? Hunt them and slay them until each one lay in pieces such as these? Or would your healer__'__s heart quail at the sight of real people when the time for the final stroke came._

Tormented and growing in desperation, Elrond whirled about in the centre of the clearing, the ends of his robes stained with red, and reached out desperately with his senses.

Ignoring the ebbing of the tree that had burned that day, and skimming past the crying of the forest, the terror of the animals and the fear of the elves surrounding him, Elrond poured every bit of his power in to reaching, searching, stretching…

Eyes snapping open, and coming to rest on Celebrian, who was on her knees before the blackened stump which she knew had sheltered her children until the end of its life, Elrond took a step towards her, then straightened, turning to face away from the horses, the clearing and the majority of elves still hunting fruitlessly for any trails.

Drawn to her husband's side by his sudden change of stance, Celebrian clutched his tunic in frustration.

'What is it Elrond? What do you see?'

Eyes focusing once more on the white face of his wife, Elrond took a deep breath and spoke so all could hear.

'I have found someone. But their life force dwindles. And no,' he foresaw the question and shook his head sadly at Celebrian, 'I do not know who it is. But, I do know that he is elf kind.'

Gasping in impatience, relief and terror, the daughter of Galadriel reacted just as Elrond knew she would. Grabbing her robes around her and lifting them from obstructing her path, she leapt, full speed in the direction her husband had directed.

Yet, lingering for a brief instant and putting a hand to his brow, Elrond felt a single tear escape down his cheek.

Startled by a presence beside him suddenly, he forced himself to meet the bright eyes of Nerometh of Mirkwood. And he clearly saw the question lurking there. Without prompting, Elrond felt the need to confide in this elf, this confidante of Kings. So, wiping the wetness from his face and taking the route his wife had already followed, he whispered the truth to the dark haired captain.

'An elf there is, lying injured along this route. And I know that I can save him, heal him and carry him back to our home.' Elrond shuddered as he felt his heart torn in two directions, and bowed his head as he knew which duty he had to follow. 'Yet I know, Nerometh, that my little ones are not out here. They never came in this direction, and for every second I take healing this elf, whoever it may be, they are being taken further from me.'

Nodding in pained understanding, and his own heart crying out with grief for this noble elf, Nerometh met Elrond's gaze and held it, imbuing his next words with all the strength he could muster.

'Then, Lord Elrond, you know that your elflings are still out there. And they are waiting for their Adar to find them and bring them home again. But in the meantime, one of your people needs you, your Lordship, and you would not be the father that those elflings love if you ignored him in his time of need. Heal your subject, give the horses time to rest. And when we are prepared, and our path is clear, we shall find your sons, find my Prince, and all the realms of men will suffer our wrath should we not recover them in the state in which they were taken from us.'

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Far distant, in lands green and luscious, a silver reflection rippled where no breeze had blown.

Piercing eyes regarded the image conjoured in the depths of the water, and the resounding cry that followed carried with it the power of centuries of accumulated wisdom and innate magic.

Footsteps raced to the source of the outburst, and taking in the dismay on his wife's usually placid visage, Lord Celeborn of Lothlorien was immediately alert.

'My love, what troubles have you seen that would alarm you so?'

Reaching for her husband's cheek with a gentle hand, Lady Galadriel let her husband see what she herself had witnessed. Gasping, his silver hair shimmering with rage at the images running through his mind, Celeborn strode to the doorway without further thought.

Turning back only to gain strength from his wife's steady gaze, and to send her his love in his own, Celeborn bowed his head as he said,

'We ride at once.'

Sitting herself back in front of her liquid mirror, the Lady of Light ran her fingers through the water as a single tear fell from her glistening eyes.

And as it hit the surface, Galadriel was gladdened to see the multiple images of a bloodied elfling, a dead stallion, a tree in flames and a hooded being carrying a tiny body off in to the night shatter in to a thousand silver droplets.

Yet her relief was only to last for a moment, as the image which played in the depths of both the water and her mind was that which caused her the most pain.

Her daughter, on her knees, crying in to a tiny, blood stained tunic.


	9. Duty and Disorder

**Title:**** 'Bridges'**

**Author:**** freeflow**

**Rating:**** T**

**Disclaimer****, A/N, Summary:**** See Chapter 1**

Chapter 9

Radall tightened his grip on the reins and tensed his legs as the speed of the horses in front of him decreased rapidly. Searching the dark for a sign as to why they were stopping, he was greeted with a laugh from the rider on the next horse.

'Hey, Rad, looks as though you've picked up a new pet!'

At this, the men around the speaker turned to look at the bandit in curiosity, only to dissolve in to laughter as they took in the sight. This hard, quiet man whom they had ridden with for some years now was a rare inclusion amongst the competitive banter of the group; usually he would withdraw from verbal sparring, preferring the peace of the woods to jokes or roughhousing, and the riders knew from experience that he would go so far as to break a man's jaw to avoid it. So, when his companions saw the position he had been forced to ride in, they pounced on the opportunity with relish, from the relative safety of their superior numbers.

'What, were you cold Rad? I didn't think you liked 'em so young!'

'Hey, there are two others if that's your taste, Rad!'

'I think I'll hold this sight close to me heart for a good long while! Oh, and Rad, you can forget about that debt I owe ya. Otherwise I might just make mention of this when we meet up with Hagleth's gang next summer!'

'This is blackmail material that'll last for years, boys!'

The inane comments swirled around Radall's head with the cold night breeze, and he tossed his head back to move the hair that had blown across his eyes. Sparing nothing but a cursory glance at the innovator of this little bout of nonsense, he heeled his horse past the group and up towards the point position.

'Hey Rad, where you going? We was just startin' to have a friendly chat, for the first time!'

Obviously feeling buoyed by the jeers of his pack mates, the first speaker, Sateth, made to follow Radall, placing a rough hand on the bandit's forearm. If he had imagined Radall would be amused by the words of the others or be unlikely to act in front of such a large group of tormentors, he was soon shown otherwise. Snapping his arm out of the grip, Radall kicked his feet from the stirrups, drew up his legs, and balancing his feet on the saddle, leapt from his horse. Sateth had started at the quick movements, but having no idea of the others intentions, made no decisive move to evade him. This hesitation proved costly as Radall kicked him square in the face, knocking him backwards and to the grass in a rumpled, squealing heap. Landing on his feet and still holding the cause of all this trouble, Radall straightened and glared down at Sateth.

'I thought I had made it clear in the past. You will not touch me. It is bad enough I am forced to listen to your filthy mouth, I will not suffer that offence too. As for my unfortunate position, which you seem to find amusing, I am doing naught but my job. I was given this charge to keep until we reach our destination, and I will do so in which ever way I deem fit.'

Staring back at the group for a second more than they were comfortable with, and ignoring the writhing man on the ground, Radall used one hand to swing back in to his saddle, and moved off. Adjusting his cloak to keep out the chill, Rad shook his head as he realised that he was making it easy for his fellow riders to mock him. He should not have reacted to Sateth as he had. He let out a sigh as he reined in his horse at the outer reaches of their temporary campsite. He could still hear the fool squeaking, nasally declaring how he'd been wronged, that justice needed to be done, how vengeance would be his.

Radall tuned it out as he turned his attention to the bundle in his arms. Once more dismounting, he held the small form in front of him, and pulled back the hood of his cloak that had been wrapped around the limp body. Slowly dropping to the grass, Radall shifted the burden until he was sure he was steady, with the child sprawled across his lap.

And as he did so, the word resounded louder and louder in his head. Child. This was no prisoner of war, or hostage taken to advance their position. This was an innocent, a coincidental casualty who should not be here in the hands of a bandit, surrounded by idiots and thieves. Radall traced the small face, and drawing a ragged cloth from his saddle bag, began to wipe away some of the blood dried on to the pale features.

How old could he be? Rad knew he was an elf, the beauty of his features betrayed that before he had even noticed the ears, and the fact that he had been taken from a group of the Firstborn within the forest was a give away too. But all the elves he had heard of were ancient beings, terrible and ethereal, with wisdom too profound to comprehend.

The two in the forest, he could see them fitting such a description easily. Yet he had seen a similar ferocity in a wolf protecting her cubs, and with three little ones behind them, maybe it was not surprising. This little one looked only about six or seven, and there was nothing terrible in his face. Besides the gash across his hairline, and the red stain marking his visage, he could well be sleeping, just like any normal child would do after a hard day of travelling.

Having cleaned the worst of the blood from the child's cheeks, he turned his attention to the wound itself. He had avoided it thus far, as it seemed to have scabbed over a little on the journey, though not before spilling a fair amount of the red liquid. Radall knew that head wounds have a propensity to bleed profusely, but this little one did not need to suffer from blood loss alongside the headache he would undoubtedly be sporting once he awoke. Not wanting to break it open again, Rad dabbed gently with the cloth, supporting the back of the small head. The long black hair had become matted around the top, and one loose braid had mostly unravelled, but the remainder of the strands lay soft and shining over Radall's calloused fingers. Sighing once more, he pressed a clean cloth against the wound, and then tied it in place with a thinner bandage. He lifted the prone form from his lap and moving over to the shadow of an oak tree, lay his charge down amongst its giant roots.

Concerned that the child had not yet stirred, Rad frowned and began to fidget, rolling one of his tunics in to a pillow and spreading his bedroll over the boy.

Rad caught himself before he could push the hair back from the pale face, knowing that he was becoming too emotional. He had not survived so long by taking in waifs and strays, nor by caring for others. The child should wake soon, and they would move on with their journey. Rad realised that he was assuming a lot about the child. But he only knew how a human body would react to such an injury, and could not be expected to know anything about elf physiology. Their races had not mixed in generations, they had had no reason to. It would not be his fault if the child did not wake, if the child should…

He stood up suddenly and turned away, moving to his horse. Taking off her tack and brushing the mare down Rad began to feel calmer. This was more like normal. Just he and Sila, relying on each other and no one else. The morning would bring its own troubles, but for now, he had done his job. He had done his job.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Elrohir was angry. He knew that his Ada would have told him it was no good to lose his temper, and that he should think things through and talk about it, but, well, Ro had no one _to_ talk to, and so he stayed angry.

He had given up squirming some time ago, as the man holding him still had put a dagger to his throat and told him to stop. Just like that.

'Stop.'

And Ro had, without even thinking. He had been so shocked to feel the cold edge of the metal against his skin that he had frozen. And that made him mad. No one could tell him what to do, except his Ada and Amme, and Glorfy and sometimes Erestor, but not always because Erestor had rules for _everything_, and if he and Dan always listened to him, they'd never have any fun. But what made him even madder was that he _had_ stopped. And now was too scared to start again. He didn't like being scared, especially when Ada wasn't there to fix it, or Amme wasn't there to hug. So he made himself stop being afraid, and got angry instead.

Everybody at Imladris thought that Elladan was the loud one, the hot headed, impetuous twin. But it was equally apparent to those who knew the Peredhils that Elrohir had inherited that same fire from their father, just with a little more of Celebrian's patience to balance it out. This mixture resulted in what Glorfindel had termed a 'slow-boiler'; that Elrohir would become gradually more enraged until he would explode in a frenzy of unrivalled proportions, only for him to quickly forget why he was so mad, and become affable once more.

However this time was different. This wasn't a squabble over the last cake, or a fight over the ruined tapestry in the corridor. Elrohir now had so many fears pressing in on him that his small body was literally shaking with the tension.

He could see Elladan fall from 'Restor's horse.

He could remember Glorfy and Erestor shouting, fighting, lying so still on the ground.

He could hear Legolas' cries for his Ada, for Glorfy, for Ro as they carried him off.

The special trip was ruined. His friends were hurt. Legolas would never want to come back to visit them now. They had separated the three of them from each other and were all talking in their loud, ugly, man language that hurt his ears to hear. The one holding him was mean, and he smelled funny.

All of this swirled in Elrohir's mind, crashing over his tired thoughts and making him bite down on his lip to stop from screaming out loud to drown it out.

But the thing that made Elrohir the angriest of all was himself. Not because he had been scared of the knife, or because he hadn't fought with Glorfy and Erestor against the bad men. He accepted those things, he really did. But when they'd each been grabbed up by a man and put on a horse, he'd seen Elladan. He was all bloody, and had his eyes closed, and Ro had screamed for his brother to wake up until the horse he was on split off in to a smaller group taking him and Legolas away from Dan's horse. And although he knew his twin was hurt, he was mad that, for the second he'd seen him, Dan had been snuggled in to the bad man that had taken him.

For about an hour, Ro had been enraged. _How could he? How could he sleep next to the bad man? After what they'd done to Glorfy and 'Restor, and after they'd ruined their special trip, how could Elladan bear to be held by him? _ But these thoughts were interspersed with flashes of Dan's face, and the dull throbbing Ro could feel in his own head that he knew was coming from his brother's wound. Gradually, he stopped being angry with Dan, and began to grow scared for him instead. And angry with himself for being angry with Dan in the first place. If he needed the bad man to keep him on the horse, he must be hurt, because Dan never let anyone help him unless he really needed it. And what would they do if Dan was hurt? Ada wasn't here, and they couldn't get away from the men even with a horse, and Ro didn't even know where his brother or Legolas were. He was pretty sure that the Prince was in his group of riders, but he hadn't seen or heard him in a long time now.

Ro had figured out why they'd split up though. Glorfy had taught them about leaving trails, and he knew that if there were two to follow, Ada wouldn't be able to come after them very quickly. And that meant that King Thranduil couldn't come for Legolas either, and, and…

Elrohir dropped his head and let go of his anger in an instant, as was his usual way. He wasn't angry anymore, he was tired, and Dan's head was aching inside his, and he just wanted to go home. And though he couldn't bring his anger back again, he found that being scared was just as useful, as either way, he could do nothing to assuage the emotion. And scared, angry or tired, it was all the same to Ro, who just kept repeating the same line over and over in his head,

_Please come get us, please come get us, please, Ada, come…_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Radall looked up from his seat by the oak tree as the second group of riders trotted in to the clearing. There was no panic accompanying the arrival; their guards had sighted their friends a good twenty minutes before, as the birds rose to the skies in order to escape the cacophony of sound the riders brought to a usually tranquil environment.

Names were shouted in greeting and welcome, and queries posed as to the chance of being followed. At this, a slim, blond man stepped out from the bustle of horses and men to address them en masse.

'We laid down three false trails and doubled back twice to check our rear guard. There were no signs of pursuit, so we will camp here for the night.'

A cheer went up from the men, and blankets were pulled from saddle bags as a wall of voices threatened to overwhelm the speaker. Radall smiled and looked down. He knew what was coming next. These fools forgot themselves far too often.

'Silence! Do you not realise where we are? We still dwell under the boughs of Rivendell, with three of the elf brats in our midst no less, and you lot set up a racket that a deaf old woman could track for thirty miles! There will be no talking save for necessities and no drinking. We leave at first light and require four sentries around the camp.'

The blond man drew a dagger from his belt and held it up so that it caught the firelight and shimmered red. Speaking more sedately, he continued in a hushed voice.

'Do not forget those who fell today, those who have paved the way for our success. It was for their families they died, and to their families will go the spoils. We will not forget them.'

At this, the rest of the band drew their daggers or short swords, and held them up.

'We will not forget.'

Radall did not rise nor draw a blade, but if anyone had seen this slight, they did not comment. Most would put it down as one of his many idiosyncrasies, others just ignored him as the outcast that he strove to be. Rad did not care for their thoughts anyway. He would not honour men who died stupidly, nor those who tried to take children from their parents, elven or not. He had not entered the fray, and had he been informed of their plan from the outset, he would not have stayed with the group. Yet when someone had thrust a small body at him and said to guard it with his life, he viewed that charge to be one of importance. It did not make this right, and he could not fix this mess, but he could do his job. He would protect the child.

He looked up from cleaning one of his many blades as a pair of boots came to a halt in front of him. The blond man had seen Rad sitting in his customary position – away from the group- and had noticed him ignore the communal salute to their dead. As leader of this band, it fell to him to keep all members in line, and even if Rad did not act as a part of the riders, he had been with them long enough to become accustomed to their ways.

'You did not join the tribute to our fallen.'

This statement was accompanied with a flat eyed stare and nothing more.

Rad sighed and slowly rose to his feet in front of the leader.

'Aran, you should know by now that we each live by our own code of honour, different as they may be. Living amongst these men does not ingratiate me to them. In fact, most of them prove daily that they have no code, no courage, and no sense.'

Rad snorted quietly and looked down at the child still sleeping amongst the oak tree roots. He took in the bruise which had begun to spread over the porcelain features, and felt his face tense at the intrusive discolouration. He whipped his head back round to look straight in to his leader's eyes. Aran met the gaze head on.

'Still, I had respected that they live this way in order to support their families. But today, we strayed from that noble cause. You are so busy playing bandits that you have forgotten how to be decent, so busy justifying your actions and hiding behind a salute to your honourable dead that you deny the truth even from your self. We stole children. Do you see that boy, Aran? He cannot be more than seven years old if he is a day, and we rode in, attacked him and his family and took him from his home.'

Aran glanced from Rad's face to the still child, and flicked his eyes back again, not willing to be put off by one of his men's arguments.

'You do not believe this to be honourable, Radall? Is that what you worry about? I heard differently. The men are saying that you have become attached to the child. An…unnatural attachment, they think. Indeed, it cannot be wholly natural to become so protective of a child in such a short space of time. Is that your intention? To trick us in to releasing these children, so you may take them back? So we would release them to you and your rule until you grow tired and dump them back in to their woodland home? No, Radall, it is not us who are dishonourable here. We wish only to hold the children until a ransom is paid for their release. I fear you plan another course of action altogether.'

Radall's face had turned colder and harder as his leader's tirade continued. He knew, logically, that it was only a rash response to having his authority challenged. Aran did not believe these things, or he would not be stating them so calmly; he would be livid. Although not the most respectable person in the group, Aran was still a man with certain ethics, and the defiling of women and children was offence enough to be punishable by death in his eyes.

'You truly believe this poisonous slander? Because I held an unconscious child close to me and wrapped him in my own cloak, you would have me labelled unclean? Is this the way you would lead your riders, Aran? Based on gossip and venomous prattle, no doubt spewed by that fool Sateth? If this is so I would take my leave now and never lay eyes upon you or your band of miscreants again.'

The hissed tone of this speech had not only Aran cringing, but obviously pierced the fog surrounding the prone child's mind too, as the boy rolled his head to one side and whimpered.

The small sound drew Rad's attention away from his leader, and although he was enjoying watching the man squirm, he had other priorities at the time. Moving back towards the child, he dropped to one knee beside him, and laying one hand on the child's cheek, whispered what he hoped was comfort to him.

'Shh, little one. Be still, be silent. You struck your head falling from a tree, but you will be fine. Shh. Just go back to sleep, it will be alright.'

Aran looked on, embarrassed, as he recalled what he had just accused this man of. Seeing this, it was impossible to think of Radall as being anything but concerned for the child. _Damn that Sateth, I should have known better than to listen to him._ He crouched down to the child and laid the back of his hand on his forehead.

'He has a temperature. Of course, that might be normal in elves, but you should try to cool him down.'

Standing again, and making to walk away, Aran stopped as Radall called to him.

'Aran, we cannot do this. This child is hurt, and we know nothing of his kind. Let me take him back, I will face the elves alone and accept their punishment. He may die all for the sake of your ransom, if we keep him here.'

Aran turned back to him slowly, a troubled look in his eyes.

'It worries me too, Rad, that we know so little. But you cannot take him back. We have not made enough this year. You know this. Would you save his life just to have three more of his age die in our village? Would you not risk this one whom you know nothing of to make sure that the sons and daughters of our people will survive the winter? We need that ransom money. Our finding them was a gift, and one I would not have you spurn.'

Radall looked down at the child and this time, let himself stroke a hand through the soft hair. Feeling desperation that he had not known since his childhood, Rad made one last attempt.

'There are two others! You can keep them. They are fit and healthy and will not need so much care as this little one will. It will only be a drain on our resources to keep him here, to make sure he is clothed and fed. Two would be less trouble, and less to provide for. Please, Aran. I have never asked you for anything since the day we met, but I ask you this. Let the child go home.'

Rad could see the battle being waged behind Aran's blue eyes, he knew that his leader would not see harm done to a child if it were preventable. And Radall had made a good point, this injured child would be a burden. But there was the one part that Aran could not let go of, the one fact that made his decision.

'No.'

Rad cried out in disbelief. How could he deny him this, the only request he'd ever put forth?

'Why Aran? Why not? The one thing I have ever asked you for…'

'Because of you, Radall!'

Aran's outburst startled the man in to silence.

'To take the child back would mean delivering yourself in to the hands of the elves. And they would know where the rest of us were heading. Where we live. Where their missing offspring are. And do not say that you would not tell, Rad. You could not promise that. You have heard as well as I the tales of the elves, their strange magic and impossible fighting skills. They would get it out of you, by manual or mystical means, and if I can save you from either, I will. You will not go. The child will remain. And you will care for him.'

Radall had dropped his eyes to the floor as he considered Aran's words, but his head lifted again at that last statement.

'I? I will look after him? What do I know of raising children, and more so, an elf child? There are men here who are parents, or have smaller siblings, let them look to our _captives_.'

He spat the last word as though the very thought offended him. A gentle hand landed on his shoulder and he turned to face the child instead of looking to Aran. He listened hard to his words though.

'Because I have seen you with that elf child, Radall, and you treat him no differently than a normal boy. And because I know you can protect him should our fortunes change.'

'Do you mean protect him from attackers? I think we are in no danger of that, Aran. We need only fear the dwellers of this forest and they will not harm one of their own.'

'I speak not of the elves, Rad. There are those among us who have no love for beings so different or feared as the Firstborn. And that dislike has increased since we took losses in acquiring our…loot.'

Aran raised a hand to stem Radall's protest at the use of that term in reference to a living creature.

'Peace, Radall, it is only a word. I know not what else to call him or the others, save elves. It is obvious they are only young ones, but can we call them children? Is that not a word for young humans? And although they are obviously male, can we call them boys? We know no names, and they may not even speak our language. For now, I would have no upset over semantics if I can avoid it.'

Radall finally let out a small sigh and a light smile brushed over his face.

'Semantics, Aran? It's a good thing you're talking to me as none of the others would have any idea what you are saying.'

Aran smiled back, and once more began to move away, calling over his shoulder;

'And that's why the elf stays with you.'

Radall sighed again, and then immediately scolded himself. _You're beginning to sound like a horse, Rad, puffing and panting when things don't go your way._ He wandered back to the little elf and pulled the cloak up to his chin. Settling down beside his charge, Radall touched the still face and withdrew his hand quickly. _He's burning up!_ Reaching for his saddle bag once more, he pulled out one of his shirts.

'Oh well, little one,' he whispered to the child, 'I suppose if I'm to care for you, I will be remunerated for the cost of this shirt after your ransom comes in.'

Tearing off a few strips of material, Rad dowsed the cloths in water and began to pat the small cheeks in an effort to bring the temperature down. After ten minutes more, Rad was beginning to worry. The child was still hot, but his teeth were chattering, and his whole body was trembling. Throwing down the redundant cloths in disgust, Radall reached forward and scooped up the shivering child, drawing him up to rest against his shoulder, as he once more gathered his cloak around him. Marching towards the campfire, Rad bypassed the smaller groups of men who were sitting together, watching his progress with disinterest. He made straight for the large circle, where Aran was sitting. He stopped in the centre of the ring, making sure all eyes were on him.

'The child is ill. I am no healer, and I do not know what ails him. He needs help.'

Aran sat up, looking at Rad sadly.

'We have been through this Radall. The child cannot return home. If he is ill, you must pray that he will recover, for we know naught of his kind or their medicine.'

Rad felt his face flush with anger. All those sitting around the circle had been watching the exchange half heartedly, but with Radall's change in demeanor, many prepared for a fight. He never approached the centre circle. He rarely came within the circles of fire light. And he most certainly never showed as much emotion as he had on this night. He had to be near his limit to be doing all three now.

'I know he cannot leave, Aran. I have accepted that this is his fate, to live or die with us, to sate our need for money and an easy winter.'

Now where there had been murmurings of amazement before, there were cries of outrage.

'Here, we need that money!'

'You watch your tongue, outsider!'

'He chooses elves over his own kind!'

'He always was an odd one...'

'Aran'll set him straight, you'll see.'

Aran rose slowly to his feet and walked towards Rad. The noise around the circle ceased and the tension grew until Aran came to a halt an inch from Radall's face. He raised a hand, but Rad did not flinch, and the rest of the camp took a breath in anticipation.

The hand slowly dropped to the child's head, and Aran looked up at Radall.

'He is too hot. We must cool him down if he is to have a chance of survival. Take off the cloak and lay him out flat, over there by my bedroll. Fetch water and a clean dressing and we will see to his wound. But make no mistake Radall, I do this for the sake of my home and my family, not for you. You have challenged me twice tonight already, and if I did not accept it as being solely for the well being of another living creature, you would already have been cast out. Tread carefully.'

Radall simply nodded and moved to carry out his tasks as though Aran had told him the weather was to be fine. Those around the circle looked at each other in disbelief. That was not how they had expected the confrontation to end. Aran had let Rad off with a warning and Radall seemed not to realise the precariousness of his situation. Then again, some whispered, maybe he did, and just didn't care. You never could tell how his mind worked anyway.


	10. To Decide Destiny

**Title:**** 'Bridges'**

**Author:**** freeflow**

**Rating:**** T**

**Disclaimer****, A/N, Summary:**** See Chapter 1**

Chapter 10

The party of elves had long ago given up any attempts to be stealthy in their search. Although never reaching the destructive abandon of their human quarry, the flora was hard-pressed to avoid wild footsteps and desperate scrambling.

As ever, the presence of Lord Elrond reassured the group; there was a survivor to locate, an elf with some information to relay, if only they could find him in time. But the chances were growing slimmer as Elrond himself began to lose track of the essence he had sensed.

'He is here, and yet lives. The trees are protecting him, sending their strength, but I can no longer find him amidst the density of wild-life. Use your eyes and ears, he cannot be far!'

Yet even elf eyes took what seemed to Lord Elrond another age to finally succeed.

'Here! Here my Lord, it is the Lord Erestor! He is badly wounded, I fear!' 

As each elf in the group came to an immediate halt, twisting towards the great healer of Imladris as though flowers to sunlight, even the wind seemed to pause in anticipation of his diagnosis.

Dropping to the side of one of his oldest and closest friends, Elrond could not help but feel his mask of confidence slide, if only slightly.

Placing a firm but infinitely gentle palm against a waxen cheek, the elven lord bowed his head, the grief palpable in the surrounding air. 

Forcing himself to move, Nerometh took a staggered step towards the pair, voicing the question no one else dared to.

'My Lord… surely he is not…'

Taking a deep breath, and placing his other hand on Erestor's chest, Elrond looked up at the Greenwood captain, a small smile battling for dominance over the pain in the immortal eyes. 

'Nay, he lives Nerometh, but the injuries he suffered in protecting my sons will ever lay heavy on my heart. Thrice slashed by cruel blades, an arrow wound to the shoulder and a blow to the head, all of which I would take from him on to myself, if only it were within my power. I do not grieve because he is lost to us, rather that he struggled so valiantly and I was still too late to rescue those he fought to safeguard.'

Lowering himself on Erestor's other side, Nerometh reached out to place a hand on the distraught elf's shoulder. Whilst simultaneously wondering what had possessed him to lay a hand on Lord Elrond's person – _the lord of Imladris, Elrond Peredhil, and you dare to comfort him as though you are equals! – _and awestruck at the depth of love this great elf had for his subjects, he was also desperately aware of the situation. Time was short, and the forest still rang with the cries of elves - calling for the elflings, and for Glorfindel. 

'He would not hold you to any blame in this, my Lord. He - like any one of your people - would fight just as hard to keep your sons safe, and be honoured by the implicit trust such a responsibility marks. Nay my Lord, the only emotions Erestor would have you feel is sorrow for the wounds he has suffered and determination, to reclaim your heirs. If any were to be indebted to his Lordship, it is I, who recognizes the ferocity with which he fought for an elfling he barely knows, an elfling which the elves of the Greenwood would fight to their last breath to protect.'

Squeezing lightly and straightening once more, Nerometh met Elrond's gaze with his own.

'Yet the day is not done, my Lord. For all I and the elves of Greenwood owe to the Lord Erestor, I believe he would agree with me when I implore you to ready yourself to make difficult decisions. The search continues, but you must return to Imladris, and help your friend to recover. If it is true that you can only feel one essence in this area, then…' Nerometh took a breath as the unspoken words surrounding Glorfindel's fate hung heavy between them, 'he is the only one who can tell us what happened, how the little ones fared when he saw them last, and the nature of our foe. It falls to you, once more, my Lord, to put aside your personal fears and work for the greater good.' 

As humble as Nerometh may have seemed; whether riding at Thranduil's side, carrying his youngest child with tender affection and dedicated attention, anticipating his King's every request and fulfilling each one often before they were vocalized, Elrond realized that he could never have overlooked this steadfast elf. _Just like Erestor, he is obviously the very backbone of Greenwood – invaluable to the running of a realm where the shadow's proximity would otherwise overrule the day to day lives of its inhabitants. With words alone has he turned my mind from maudlin despair to purposeful action. When all this is over, and our children are back safely within the arms of those who love them, I shall see this elf honoured for his diligence. But until then…_

Nerometh saw the fire return to the Lord of Imladris' eyes, and the orders that spilled from his mouth would not have been out of place on a battle field. Sharp, succinct and vital, those around him could not help but obey.

'Three of you, gather materials to construct a litter, and have Lord Erestor ready for transport as soon as it is completed. His injuries are serious, but I believe I will have stablised him enough to move by that time. The rest, sweep the area in expanding circles, keeping a partner directly above you in the trees at all times. If the ground can tell us nought, mayhap the forest itself will have gathered clues for us. Pair up, a Greenwood elf with those of Imladris' guard, and use the abilities gifted to you by Eru Iluvatar himself. There is no time for grief, nor clearing this mess. What is not claimed by the woods must remain until we can return to dispose of it. These men have decided on their own destinies. We have our own to carve. Now, to your tasks!'

Fists raised to hearts across the clearing as the elves of two disparate realms merged in to a fearsome contingent. Any differences or distrust which may have existed previously simply dissolved in the face of such desperate circumstances, Greenwood and Rivendell joined by the drive to reclaim their missing children and friend.

Returning his gaze to the still form before him, Elrond could not stop the lone tear which streaked down his strained features. Pushing his own light in to his touch, he whispered softly, so softly that only Erestor himself, had he been able to hear, could have caught his words.

'I give my light to you, dear one, as you gave yours freely to protect those I hold most close to my heart. Take strength from me, Erestor, and return to us. Return to the ones who love you, to those who would gladly share their light. Return to me, my friend, so that you may lead us to your twin treasures. Return as you were, as the Valar made you, as we need you to be. Heed my call, elf of Imladris, and return.'

The dark haired elf made no outward movement, yet Elrond could sense a subtle shift within his patient. _A…settling, for lack of a better term. He is no longer torn between two worlds, he is returning. Thank Manwë, but he has heard me._ Bowing his head, Elrond allowed himself to listen once more to the frantic cries which yet rang across the forest floor, for Glorfindel, for his sons, for the Prince. _Nay, Erestor, I know you, stubborn as you are. For my voice alone, you would not have answered. But for your twin stars, your troublesome, terrible, treasured stars, you would deny Eru himself._ A wave of painful love swept through Elrond's being at this, as he realized this truth for the first time. These injuries, inflicted upon an elf he had known for countless centuries, suddenly became simultaneously hideous and wondrous to him. Each tear in the pale skin, each drop of blood staining the elven fabric, every poisonous wound and weeping gash, all were laced with the most profound love. 

This elf, who portrayed himself as disaffected, cantankerous and brusque to all those who dwelled within the Last Homely House was now lying in dirt, surrounded by hewn limbs and desecrated humans, dragging in meager breaths and clinging desperately to Arda. All for the sake of three small elflings. Stroking back the disheveled hair before him, Elrond smiled. _Ah, Erestor my friend. Your reputation will never recover from this. And should Glorfindel hear of it…_

A sharp intake of breath snapped the half-elf from his thoughts. Raising his head once more, Nerometh's words echoed in his mind.

_Yes, it is time for action. Yet as regal and respectful as Nerometh's words were, he is not the Lord of Imladris, nor King of the Greenwood. And it is time I acted as a ruler once more. _

Straightening, Elrond strode to the elves fashioning scattered branches in to a makeshift litter and knelt to check the strength of their creation. Nodding decidedly, he placed a hand on one Greenwood and one Imladris elf's shoulder and murmured his thanks. 'Now, I fear I must charge you with a task that I myself would undertake; you are to be the protectors of the Lord Erestor. When he is secured, you two, along with two more as guards, are to accompany Erestor back to Imladris. Once there, you will instruct my healing staff as to the nature of his injuries - which I will inform you of – and wait with him until he shows significant improvement.' Raising a hand to stem the imminent revolt, he shook his head and waited for acquiescence. 'I realize your concern for the elflings and Lord Glorfindel would have you return as soon as Erestor is home, yet I would have you wait. If possible, and if the Valar allow, you may come back to us with information from Erestor himself. Perhaps I am unfair in thrusting this duty upon you, as inaction in the face of such desperate times, as I well understand, is untenable. I know this, but still, would beg your assistance.'

The elves surrounding him could not doubt the sincerity in his words; the duality of his duty and his desperation to find his sons warring within age-old eyes and tearing the normally placid leader between two poles. 

Raising fists to chest level and rising immediately, Elrond sighed as one decision was put aside. _No time to reflect on whether it was wrong or right… Reckless, Elrond, reckless…_

But at the sight of his friend being carried with eminent care by his assigned contingent, Elrond could not bring himself to doubt further. _The decision is made, for better or… it matters not. Even if I returned with him, I could only do as much as any of the healers at Imladris. He will not awaken faster should I accompany him, and… _Now Elrond smiled dangerously, unaware of his own expression and the danger which throbbed from his terrible aura. _If I have no other control over these events, then I must make use of what I do have. If my sons are to be found, if Glorfindel is still nearby, if the Prince is waiting to be retrieved, then it is I who shall do so. _

As the party of elves left the bloodied clearing with their charge between them, they were the blissfully unaware of the scene they left behind. As history would recall, they were the only elves present to leave the forest that day still believing that Elrond Peredhil had left his expertise in warfare behind him.

With fire in his eyes and a scowl upon his fair features, Elrond Lord of Imladris burned with a ferocity that rivaled any before known on Middle Earth. 

_I am sorry, brother. You chose humanity as your path, and long have I protected your kin in their mortality; nursing them through illness and injury, joining them in their moments of joy, their fleeting bursts of passion and vivid lust for life. But not today, my twin. Today, the world of men must account for its impetuosity; their actions which are ruled by selfish desires and the need to live as best they can – no matter the consequences. Today, Elros, the elves must teach the second-born that which they so often forget; that the inevitability of their demise should teach them the value of life, rather than make them unmoved by it. And should any of my loved ones fall by their hands, brother, I, Elrond Peredhil, will not hesitate to show them that death is something to fear…_

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Having heard the order for those carrying Erestor to move out, Thranduil cursed. _Will the Valar forsake us completely this day?_ Knowing that without a witness to tell otherwise, his son may well have been harmed by these human interlopers, the King of Greenwood felt his last piece of restraint snap. Opening his senses completely, he felt the voices of the trees rush back towards him with a horrendous clamour, forcing him to his knees once more.

They go, they go, the little ones, they go so far from here

Saplings they are, seeds to shelter and we cannot save them

We try, we burn, they cannot be stopped

Hold them, tangle and twist, capture for the teachers, the bringers of light

Why do they slash, crush, tear

The golden light stalks, the light of the deep falls, it fades, it fades, the light of the deep falls

Follow brothers, follow sisters, for the tiny ones, the innocence

They cannot be stopped

A sudden touch to his shoulder wrenched Thranduil from the wails of the forest, and he found himself looking through tears at the warped face of his closest friend. 

'Sire?'

The whispered title was filled with such raw fear that Thranduil could not bring himself to answer straight away. That fear, so like his own, spilling from Nerometh to taint the very air they breathed. _We cannot survive, it poisons us, the terror, the desperation, the want, the need…_

Shaking his head as he realized the words of the trees were seeping in to his consciousness, he forced a wall between his own mind and that of his greatest strength; the forest itself. Now was not the time to grieve with the flora, he needed their assistance, not their feelings, and as they were not particularly explicit at the best of times, their thoughts at the moment were barely coherent. _No, you must depend on a separate strength this time, Thranduil._ Looking straight at his captain, he reached out a shaking hand and rested it on Nerometh's shoulder.

'I am well Nero, I had hoped our trees would guide me to Legolas. But they suffer as we do, my friend, and their words held nought but turmoil…'

Steadying his King as they both rose to their feet, Nerometh held on to Thranduil's arm as he made certain that he was steady. Bowing his head, he closed his eyes as one of his unspoken hopes was dashed. 'I had placed my expectations on their assistance Sire, and knowing that we are still uninformed as to the events of this day weighs as heavy on me as it will on the rest of our party.'

Listening once more to the shouts from their fellow searchers, both elves were suddenly struck with the need to move. 

'This is getting us nowhere, Nerometh. With Erestor incoherent and the trees gabbling about lights and saplings, our path is for us to devise. Come, let us bring some decisive action to our troubles. My little leaf is waiting for me Nero, and I shall not fail him.'

Quirking an eyebrow at his leader, Nerometh nevertheless followed in his wake.

'Lights and saplings, Sire? To what were they referring?'

Glancing back at his captain, Thranduil met his eyes only to once more take up his constant perusal of their surroundings. _No matter what the trees believe, I will not abandon the hope that just one of them is still here, still nearby…_

'I know not, Nero. Just that they whispered of golden light, and the 'light of the deep falls'. The saplings I would suppose were the little ones, for what else could they be to the eyes of the forest? But we have no time to wonder, Nerometh. They grieve, and often I feel their emotions in bursts of colour. It may be that they were just expressing the events in the only way that they can.'

Nerometh however had not risen to his position in the Greenwood guard by simply taking the King's statements at face value. 'But _golden light_ Sire? You are certain it was golden light?'

'Yes, yes Nerometh. Golden, and a flash of the brightest light – as though sunshine on glass, or the reflection from a stream – that is how they perceived it. 'The golden light stalks', I believe.'

'And the 'light of the deep falls', Sire?'

'Yes Nero! It is as I said, yet as you talk to me my child could well be travelling further from us, from the arms he belongs in. Now can we continue our hunt, or will you continue to quibble over the rustlings of the trees?'

Stalking towards the area which had previously been the centre of activity, Thranduil slowed to a halt as he took in the scene. Celebrian, having eventually moved from her place at the smoldering oak was buried in Elrond's arms, but was no longer crying. And Elrond stood rigid, eyes seeing nothing as he waited for the reports from his search parties. Neither moved, frozen by the situation, by the fear, by the distress that hung heavy in the dappled forest light.

Thranduil steadied his nerve and took a step forward. His limbs were screaming at him to move, to act, and his body was unwilling to deny the impulses any longer. 

'Elrond, Cel, we must move on. They are gone, I can feel that much. My little leaf would have answered by now, and if he… if he could not… the trees would have told me. I realize that there are numerous paths they may have taken, but we accomplish naught by standing here.' Taking a breath, he lowered his voice and spoke once more, the sorrow in his words obvious. 'I cannot feel elven life in this area, Elrond, and from the condition of Erestor, I do not think that Lord Glorfindel could have fared well in this attack. Yet I know he would have us go on, to retrieve our children. Although I have only known him for a few days, this I can say.'

Both heads snapped towards Thranduil at this, one blazing grey fire, the other with delicate lashes fanned low over sweeping cheekbones. Celebrian did not need to see her old friend to recognize the anguish these words conjured in him – the loss of any elf struck Thranduil to the core, but so soon after Ataralassë, the thought of any immortal being forced from Arda before their time was hideous for him to consider.

A hissed response was not one that the King had considered however.

'You would have me choose between Glorfindel and my children? Or rather, Thranduil, you would make that decision for me? I admire your courage, son of Oropher, but would remind you of your present surroundings. This, I am quite certain, is not the Greenwood, and within this forest, beneath these boughs, I am ruler.'

'Elrond!'

The crackling words had brought all elves in the immediate vicinity to a halt, and paired as they were, with the Imladris and Greenwood contingent working together, the tension poured from each individual. 

Celebrian pushed away from her husband with a ferocity that none would have believed her capable of. 'How could you bring up such petty matters when our children are missing, and Erestor is so badly wounded? How dare you belittle his sacrifice with your childish arguments! My sons are out there, scared and alone and you wish to argue over points of authority?'

She knew, as did her hard-headed husband that leadership was not the question here. But being forced to abandon Erestor in order to track his sons, and now that same choice being placed before him again, that another friend he held so dear to him should be left for dead in this Valar forsaken place… The strain had become too much.

Deciding that the atmosphere in the clearing was becoming irresolvable, Nerometh once more steeled himself to intrude upon matters he would far rather avoid. Yet looking from the darkening features of his King to the cold and increasingly volatile face of Lord Elrond, he realized that assertive action was likely the only way to divert these particular elves away from their differences.

Clearing his throat, he raised a hand in a placating manner, directing attention to himself. 

'My Lords, Lady, I recognize your fears as very real and would not wish to give you false hope, but I do believe that there is a glimmer of light available to us in this desperate hour.'

Tearing his eyes from those of Elrond, Thranduil had no patience for his captain's riddles. 

'Speak clearly Nero, of what hope do you speak?'

'Sire, I believe our ray of hope is, indeed, 'golden', as the trees were attempting to tell you.'

This had become too much for Celebrian. The hole she felt within her signaling the loss of her babies was throbbing in time with their terrified heart beats, and she could not, would not wait any longer. Silver hair flashing as blades on the battlefield, she strode to Nerometh and took hold of his tunic. In a deep, throaty voice, her pain wrapped around the Greenwood captain with her next words;

'If there is hope to be had, then by the Valar impart it to me, Nerometh. For my very _being_ tears in two, and I can see no light to guide me.' 

For the daughter of the Lady of Light, such a confession was unthinkable, and until this day, this event, she could not have foreseen such darkness invading her spirit. This knowledge made Nerometh's next words all the more vital, and he realized the dreadful responsibility thrust upon him. 

Gripping the Lady of Imladris beneath her forearms, Nerometh watched in dismay as a single tear streaked from the ethereal eyes before him to flee unhindered to the bloodstained grass below.

'The trees, my Lady. They spoke of a golden light which stalks, and a 'light of the deep falls'. For me, and indeed, for all who know him, Lord Glorfindel is the embodiment of golden light. And the stalking he would do can only be to track the elflings. I believe there is hope yet, my Lady. Grasp it, for the Valar have heard your pleas.'

Shaking his head once, raven hair ghosting across his face as though a shadow lifting, Elrond moved to stand behind his wife. Laying a soft hand on her back, he dared to whisper;

'Glorfindel follows them? He is alive?'

Thranduil, not having forgotten Elrond's outburst but too involved in this development to spare it any thought, moved closer also.

'Then the light of the deep falls, it was not the 'deep falls', as I said, but the light of the deep, _falls_; they spoke of Erestor.'

Nodding in agreement, Nerometh gripped the arms before him in an attempt to bolster the distraught woman he held. 'Together, the Lords Glorfindel and Erestor seem to many to be as different as night and day, yet the kinship between them is as obvious to strangers as it is to the trees themselves. If Glorfindel is sun on the water, then Erestor is the deep of the stream, the undercurrent of each ripple. The trees could not help but be affected by our friends, they simply could not tell us who they saw. To them it is clear, and their whispers tell us what we need to know. That if they spoke true of Lord Erestor, then we may hold to the belief that Lord Glorfindel is already on the trail of our missing little ones.'

This statement broke the spell which had held all present in its sway. Elves dropped from branches as the implications of this fell in to place, and Elrond and Thranduil began crying out instructions to their respective company.

As the two realms divided once more, retrieving horses and uncovering the tracks of their quarry with the precision of those who live amongst nature rather than step over it, the two rulers once more met each others' gaze.

No words were exchanged, yet the sentiment was well understood. No more desperate sniping or irrelevant debates. They had been granted a reprieve by the Valar themselves, and Eru willing, they would soon be on the trail of their most precious gift. 

With a determination terrible to behold, the combined forces of Imladris and Greenwood moved forward, hope rekindled, and fury unleashed. The hunt had begun. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Far away, beneath an ancient ash tree, two elflings snuggled together, their blond and raven hair entangled over gnarled bark. As one whimpered and pressed his face further in to his companion's shoulder, a small hand reached out, only to be gripped in midair as the pain became too much to bare alone.

Both small hands turning white at the strength of the clasped fingers, one tiny voice began humming, calling to the trees and soothing both elfling and the trunk they leant against. 

As the lower branches drooped to brush against the tops of the tiny heads, a whisper swirled around their small hollow, contained by the leaves and destined only for tapered ears. 

'They'll come, Ro. They'll come.'


	11. A Light Flickers

**Title:**** 'Bridges'**

**Author:**** freeflow**

**Rating:**** T**

**Disclaimer****, A/N, Summary:**** See Chapter 1**

Chapter 11

'This is unacceptable Aran!'

The hissed statement caused those closest to the speaker to raise a wary eyebrow in their leader's direction. Few spoke so to Aran and continued living in the manner they were accustomed to; in fact most would soon find themselves sufficiently lighter, due to the sudden loss of an appendage. But if any were surprised by the leniency their commander had shown this night, they did not voice it. Radall may have escaped Aran's wrath until this point, but woe betide any other who intruded on their dispute.

'He does not stir. His temperature is still too high, and you have done nothing but sit and wait for him to react to your pitiful attempts at doctoring, hoping that his own body will heal by some elven magic. Well, Aran, it would seem that besides leading this ragtag group of miscreants in to an impromptu kidnapping, you have also fallen afoul of the same superstitions that your idiot band are privy to. Because there is no magic, oh great leader, just a child injured by your deeds and suffering due to your ineptitude.'

Perhaps Radall noticed the silence of their audience, or the tension thick in the forest air. Or maybe he saw the conflicted rage captured on the other man's face. Whichever it was, the anger inexplicably drained from his body, and his voice broke the standoff with a soft plea that was, to Aran at least, far more effective in its gentleness than any of his rambling arguments had been.

'Please, let me take him back.'

Still clutching the limp elf child to his shoulder, Aran watched as this formerly stoic, silent man unconsciously swayed in a rocking motion, one hand supporting the dark head, the other holding a tattered blanket tight around the small form. The image was certainly heart-rending; Aran was not so cold as to be unaffected by such open compassion, yet he had realized as soon as Radall had presented the child to him that there could be no alternative.

'You know my answer Radall. You stay. The child stays. If he dies, so be it, it is what has been his path from the start. But I will not have you endanger our people for the sake of one life. It is unfair of you to ask me to choose between a child and our village, but I will do so, and would do the same again and again as long as I have within my grasp the means by which to keep our wives and families back home alive through the winter.'

Stroking a comforting hand down the smooth hair, Radall shook his head.

'It is not his path, it never was. You took him from his home and family and now would cast him aside as nothing. You still have two captives, let them be the blood paid for your filthy winter feast. I want no part of this, Aran. I have stayed with your group for this long only through apathy – I had nowhere else to go, nowhere I needed to be. You yourself showed honourable tendencies and hunting for a village was appealing to me, but those people you hunt for, die for, _kill_ for, they are not my people. None of them depend on me, not like this little one. He is my concern now, one that your own band of merry adventurers thrust upon me and I would see this responsibility through to its completion. And in my mind, that is the safe return of the child to his people, his parents.'

Radall did not raise his voice throughout his diatribe, and continued rocking the child in his arms even though his face was creased with righteous anger. _ The look in his eyes is that of a parent,_ Aran realized, _and he will not be swayed from this task. Still, he may be utilized in another way…_

Sighing in apparent defeat, Aran raised his hands palm up before him, as though passing all responsibility to Radall.

'Then the child is yours Radall. I would not have the blood of any more of my men spilt this night, even one so insubordinate as you. Yet do not be in a hurry to depart. The child's sibling may well benefit from seeing his brother once more before you divide them. If you are so caring as you would have me believe, surely you can grant the child that much. He, after all, does not have such a savior as his brother appears to have found.'

Later, Radall would recognize the ingenuity of this man. Later, when events had progressed far beyond their small imaginings, he would realize that this was the point of no return. The point at which he sealed the fate of the village he swore no allegiance to, the people that would use children to fill their coffers, and the man who would use the bonds of three elflings to ensnare the only threat to his plans. Later, Radall would be hard-pressed to decide whether he would have done anything differently at all.

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'Legolas? Are the trees still crying?'

Elrohir pressed his face deeper in to the green clad shoulder before him and waited for the answer. It did not matter, not really, but he wanted his friend to talk, and by telling him about the trees, Ro felt a tiny bit closer to home. _These horrid men don't listen to the trees, they just bellow in their ugly language, shouting 'stop' and 'go' and 'eat', and 'elf brat', and they think I don't know, but I do, and when I tell Ada he'll…_

A sudden sniff crept out from between the elflings as a wave of loneliness swept over the dark haired child. Stirring from his daze, Legolas lowered his head to rest on his friend's and whispered reassurances.

'It's alright Ro, it's alright. Our Adas are coming, and Nero and maybe even Glorfy and 'Restor. And yep, the trees are still crying, but they've started to sing a little too, a night time song for just us. It's about the stars and the grass, and the birds going home when Anor sets. I'd sing it for you, but I can't make it leafy enough.'

Sighing, Ro rested a little more weight on his friend, sharing his warmth. The way they had been tied had gone from cruelty on the part of their captors to a blessing for the elflings; Legolas bound round the waist to the tree behind him, Elrohir with his arms wrapped around the tree, the ropes entwined with the Prince's in a tangle that would take even the nimblest elven fingers some time to decipher. Yet although Ro's arms had long ago fallen asleep, and Legolas being unable to straighten fully due to the bend of the tree trunk, the two had wiggled and squirmed until they could see each other, and after a little more work and some scraped skin, lean together under the impassive eyes of their two guards.

'I wish I could hear them like you do, 'Las.'

Huffing a laugh but quickly glancing at the two men watching over them, Legolas twisted slightly, trying to relieve the pressure on his back.

'It would be better if I could understand these people more, Ro. I don't know any of their words, and they already got angry before when they wanted me to move. I like the trees too, but they don't want me to do things. What if they want me to eat or jump or stand on one leg or…'

'Then it doesn't matter, because I'll tell you what they want. And you can help me hear the trees better, alright?'

Elrohir could feel the brief nod against the top of his head before they both fell silent once more.

Rather than drop back into their lonely thoughts, Legolas decided to keep up his end of the bargain. One tapered ear twitched as he closed his eyes, blocking out the men surrounding them and focusing on the voices of the trees. Getting caught up in the growing melody, the child began to show Elrohir the tune, letting the earthy sounds bubble through him, so that Ro could feel as well as hear the comforting notes.

Facing away from the camp, Ro had been able to shut out the reality of their plight to an extent. Yet unwittingly, the comfort the pair sought in each other had a contrasting effect on their wardens. As they spoke, the watchers had grown increasingly irritated. Not understanding the words either child was using, and growing more fearful by the second at the wistful humming coming from the blond child, they had edged closer to the pair, hands drifting to the weapons at their sides.

'That elf speak, I ain't heard nothing like it before.'

'Ere, should they be doin' that? I mean, you heard Aran. He said to Rad earlier, he said, something about _mystical_ means. You know, like magic! I don't like it, we should tell 'im. No tellin' what they might be cooking up, and that noise, that _singin_' noise, it's plain disturbin' is what it is. Makes my skin wanna crawl off it does.'

The two shifted uncomfortably as the wind around the camp picked up a little. The effect was instantaneous.

'They're doin' it! Making the trees move, shake, the wind gushing through 'ere like it's under some kind of spell!'

'I knew that elves were too tricky, I knew we'd be messin' with witchcraft takin' up with them lot!'

Leaping to their feet, the growing cries raised the attention of the neighbouring parties.

'What's going on over there?'

'Some of us are trying to sleep!'

'Quiet down before Aran hears you, idiots! You think he'll be impressed if you lead the elves right to us?'

The sudden rush of disparate voices had the elflings pressing tight against each other in fright.

Whispering desperately, Legolas turned his head towards his friend, twisting against the ropes.

'What are they saying Ro, why do they shout like that?'

Shaking his head, eyes wide and neck straining to see over his own shoulder, Ro could not help but try to pull himself free once more. Feeling the bark dig in to his wrists, he heard the tree whisper an apology directly to him, but rather than being thrilled at understanding the message, he became more agitated as other, less pleasant words filtered through to him. His knowledge of Westron was basic at best, only having started lessons a short time before and spending more of his energy making mischief for Erestor than his studies, but nevertheless there were certain words which got his attention.

'Elves, they said elves, and trees and oh, 'Las!'

A gasp had Ro tugging at his bonds, and Legolas emulating his movements through fear alone.

'Ro, what did they say? Ro!'

'They said 'skin' and 'come off', 'Las! They want our skin to come off, they're scared of how we talk, and are gonna take our skin off!'

With the elflings' voices growing higher with each syllable, and the surrounding men in uproar as to the meaning of their conversation, not one individual marked the arrival of two figures from the east side of the camp. But silence fell most suddenly when a voice barked out;

'What is the meaning of this?!'

Faces spun to Aran with a mixture of relief and embarrassment covering the majority. The elflings paid no such attention, however. Both were twisting with ferocity at their bonds, gasping and panting as they grew further entwined around the weeping, whispering tree trunk. Aran strode forward, glaring at the two men he had assigned to watch his latest loot.

'What have you done to make them act this way? They were perfectly calm when I left here, a little confused, scared perhaps, but now they are tearing at themselves to be free and clear of you. I told you from the start not to harm them. They are our chance at surviving this winter; do you not understand how vital they are?'

Nodding shamefacedly, the pair lowered their faces before their leader's tirade. But they had decided to warn Aran, and warn him they would.

'But they were jabbering Aran, in that elf speak, and then the wind blew all around us, and the trees, they, they were groaning! It was elf magic, Aran, just like you said, and we were just going to shut them up is all.'

Now was Radall's turn to stride forward. Eyes flaming with rage, he lowered his voice only in deference to the child still cradled in his arms.

'Elf magic? You fools! See how your band would harm these innocents Aran? Even bound to a tree in the middle of a forest they come at _children_ with weapons, simply for talking to each other in _a language which they understand_. You hear me, you slow-witted creatures? They are children speaking in the only tongue they know, and you scare them half to death with swords for daring to whisper words of comfort.'

Spinning away from the stuttering pair, Radall realized his hand had automatically cupped the back of the small head pressing against his neck, as though to shield the defenseless face from being tainted by even the eyes of those, _those ignorant excuses for men_. Steadying himself once more, he began to make his way to the tree all eyes had now become fixed on, and suddenly, for the first time, he felt real shame.

Huddled at the base of the trunk, rivulets of red running down shaking white arms, eyes clamped shut and breaths tearing out in spite of desperate attempts to stifle any noise, were two elflings, no larger than the one that had so captured his affection.

He was prepared for this, he knew what the fools had done, what they held these children for. But to put faces to these, _these hostages, Rad, that's what they are_, it made his very heart want to implode with the disgrace.

'So beautiful, and so young you are. Yet we take you for our own purposes. I am so sorry, little ones, so very sorry.'

Kneeling before the elflings but staying beyond reaching distance, Radall spoke in calming, soothing tones. He had no experience with children - anyone who knew him would never have dreamed of afflicting a child with such an antisocial individual – yet Rad knew his abilities with animals and wildlife, and these children were behaving in much the same way - namely abject terror. Talking as he would to a startled colt, he murmured reassurances as he had done for the past night to his own charge.

It felt almost natural now, not aiming to communicate but simply soothe by his presence; creating a stability and grounding that the elflings could cling to in their fear.

As Aran and the rest of his men looked on, Radall edged closer.

'Little ones, I have someone here whom I think you would like to see. Aran said that he is your brother, or at least one of you is his brother. And I think, if I had to guess, that would be you, who hides his face from me. For as like in size as you all are, you two have the same colouring… And unless I am mistaken, the same style of braids. Are you brothers, little elf? Will your parents be missing two of their sons tonight?'

Although still frozen and locked onto Legolas, that word kept repeating in Elrohir's head.

_Brother, brother, what is it, what did Erestor say… Brother, that was me and… Gwador… brother… Brother! Elladan!_

Radall almost jumped back at the speed which the dark head whipped around, but if not from the surprise, he may well have toppled backwards from the shock of seeing the child in his arms suddenly bound before him, yet with eyes open and brimming with tears. And shame stabbed at him again when that now familiar face found the bundle in his arms, and he once more began tugging at already torn wrists, whimpering two words over and over again.

'Brother, brother, Elladan, brother…'

Shaking himself from his transfixed state, Radall lurched forward, thrusting the elfling he held so tightly in to the bound child's eyeline. Sensing the proximity, the blond child pushed himself closer to his friend, but also widened his eyes at the unexpected reappearance of the missing elfling. Once more the strange word was repeated, only this time with relief and not a small amount of fear.

'Elladan?'

Try as he might, Radall had been unable to remove all of the blood from the child's face. The gash made earlier had been stemmed, yet the streaks of red seemed to make reappearances throughout the night, due to the application of numerous wet cloths and poultices hoping to bring down the child's fever. So it was that his reunion with his playmates was less than auspicious, but Rad could already see that the affect the return of this missing piece was having on the remaining pair.

'His name is Elladan, little ones? I thank you, for all night I have been calling him simply 'little elf'. Now he has a name, and from the likeness between you, I would say a twin also. Now what of you, little one? If this is Elladan, what is his brother called?'

Placing one hand on Elladan's head as he spoke his name, he then extended a hand to the other elfling, tilting his head to one side in question. A small smile played about his face and he hoped that the request would be received and understood. _Perhaps by knowing their names this madness can stop. To make them people rather than prizes, maybe…_

'Elrohir.'

The tiniest whisper floated to Radall as the elfling in question buried his face back in the shoulder of his friend. A wider smile overtook Rad's face as he ducked his head, disguising his joy from the men he knew were still watching. _Never let them see your weakness Rad, never get attached to something that can be taken away…_ Although he knew logically that it was already far too late for warning thoughts of that kind, he could not override a lifetime of conditioning. The same was true of his attitude towards winning, and he would take what victories he could. Which was why he was accepting of the dismissal he received from the remaining elfling, who spoke no words, simply bowing his head to rest back against the dark hair of his friend.

Reaching out a gentle hand, he stroked both dark and fair hair once, then rocked back on his heels and to his feet, carrying his elfling – _Elladan, he is Elladan_ – back to Aran. Meeting his leader's gaze once more, he felt the trap that had been set for him spring shut.

'It would seem, Aran, that I will be remaining with the group. Our, _guests_, for their part, are once more calm and seem to be exhausted, enough that we should allow them the comfort of a decent night's sleep. They will not run, I have seen it in their eyes. Just as you have ensnared me, they will remain also, for their friend, for their brother. Now I would request only one more thing of you, my crafty leader, and that is to be allowed to treat their injuries and let them rest until sunrise.'

Pleasantly surprised at the steady fashion in which Radall had accepted his enforced stay, Aran could not resist smirking at his own success.

'Why that is hardly a request at all Rad, and one I would surely grant in return for your acquiescence.'

Bowing his head in mock submission, Radall tempered his anger by smoothing the dark hair under his palm, and grinned at his former leader.

'Then I accept responsibility for all three captives, for the duration of their stay with us.'

Spinning once more, Radall fished in his pocket for a small blade, intending to free his newest charges immediately when the sharp voice stopped him once more.

'Do not try anything tricky, Radall. There will be no escape until the ransom is paid and our village secured for another winter.'

Keeping his back to Aran, once more a snarling grin crept over Radall's features. Had anyone been able to see his face, they may have warned Aran of the promise of payment etched there. As it was, the only hint Aran received were the tightlipped words of his newest subordinate, muttered through clenched teeth and seething with a dark assurance;

'I would never endanger them so, Aran. But take heed. This snare worked well and I applaud your accomplishment. Yet I have never responded well to pressure, as you well know. And as you are yet to see, I am not a proponent of enforced labour.'

Now, twisting his neck so one eye glared over the elfling's cupped head, he whispered;

'And we shall see how long your cage holds, Aran. We shall see.'

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The forest had flickered through a miasma of emotion that night. Contentment to fear, pain to outrage, frustration to despair. But never before had the trees of Arda given up hope, the belief in those that created them, and in those who talk them to speak. And on this night also, that faith held firm.

It was what kept Glorfindel upright. Palm flat to every roughened bark he stumbled past, he drew strength from the mighty oak, the dependable ash, even the steadfast grass beneath his feet. Hurrying him, urging him forward with whispered tales of dark men, fearsome men riding before him, of silent elflings, of red covering faces of purest alabaster, of tears and songs of comfort.

He knew he was falling behind. Asfaloth had long since disappeared, riding for Rivendell at a glance from his elven companion, seeking aid and reinforcements. By now he knew it had been a waste, Elrond would have known, Cel would have felt it. And if all else failed, Thranduil would have felt the screams of the forest moments after the attack had begun.

Yet even had his steed been with him now, he was uncertain that he could have gone any faster. On horseback or no, his head was swimming with pain and disorientation, and although he thanked the trees for their company, the steady cadence of their words was becoming an overwhelming swell that only punctuated the injury that most worried him.

_You were sloppy, Glorfindel, distracted, and look where it has brought you to, look where it left Erestor! A blow to the temple and a twisted knee, you were lucky to escape with your head still attached to your incompetent body. Had that blade not struck a branch first, you would not only be noticeably shorter, but any plans you may have had in that skull of yours would also be lying back in that clearing with the rest of your miserable carcass._

For hours now he had replayed the scenes in his head; the picnic, Elrohir's stories, the muddied hands of two happy elflings and the contentment on Erestor's face. And like a shadow, the events of the day caught up to eradicate those memories; tainting them with the blood of an elfling, the blame placed squarely on his own shoulders, the disappointment in the eyes of a friend, the torn body parts and ripping of flesh, the blow which felled Erestor and the threat which stilled his own hand.

_They would have killed them, killed the elflings had I not surrendered…_

He shook his head in a violent self-reprimand, curling his fingernails in to the closest bark.

_They took them anyway, and burnt the tree to get to them! Killed a centuries old tree whose only crime was to shelter innocents, innocents you put within its branches! You are a fool Glorfindel, a half-witted fool who places too much faith in the goodness of people. Death has made you complacent, unphased by the cruelties of this world. Well, learn well this lesson. You let those men take the elflings. You left Erestor to the elements and you continue to delude yourself in to believing that you have any chance of catching them. Elrond would be asha…_

Glorfindel's head snapped up at this. Although he had been quite willing to suffer the biting chastisement of his own guilt, he could not allow himself to fall so far into despair. He still had a task to accomplish, and even if the thoughts had been correct, they would have to wait to be addressed. He was still a warrior foremost, and his training spanned two lifetimes of putting aside personal grievances for the sake of the mission.

_If Elrond knows, then he will understand. He will know I follow for the children, and that I knew Erestor would survive until he found him. He knows I am no healer, and my efforts were best served in tracking our enemies. He knows that I would never hurt the elflings, that I would give my life for them in a heartbeat should such a choice be offered to me. He knows these things…_

Yet as the golden warrior of Imladris struggled onwards once more, he could not stop the soft whisper that was heard only by the trees.

'He knows… But Elrond, how can you ever forgive me?'

And as the boughs drooped where the elf had passed, his forlorn murmur was captured by silent leafy witnesses, to be wept over as the golden light flickered and dimmed.

'…How will I ever forgive myself?' 


	12. The End of the Beginning

**Title:**** 'Bridges'**

**Author:**** freeflow**

**Rating:**** T**

**Disclaimer****, A/N, Summary:**** See Chapter 1**

Chapter 12

The night had been short for the elflings, allowed to sleep curled together for only a brief time before the light haired leader made them mount up once more. Yet curled up with his brother between he and Legolas, Elrohir was no longer so desolate as he had been.

Elladan had not woken up, nor spoken to his friend or brother. Still, Ro felt happier than he could ever remember being - just seeing his twin, wrapping his arms over the lax form, pressing his forehead against the identical cheek. He could feel Dan's head pounding beneath his subconscious, the fever running in ripples in the cool evening air. He knew when his brother awoke, he would be far from well, and the thought of them being so far from home and Ada when Dan was feeling bad was not something the elfling wanted to dwell on. Yet as most elves do when faced with a difficult situation, Ro took all the positives he could – and held his twin just that little bit tighter.

When the order came, he was startled from his doze – exhausted enough to close his eyes in unwitting emulation of his brother – and looked up to see Legolas' eyes meet his own across Dan's chest. Reaching out to his friend, he gripped the small fingers in his own and shuffled closer still, moulding himself to Elladan's inert form.

'Las, we can't go yet, I don't want you to go, or Dan!'

Squeezing the hand in his own with a reassuring strength, Legolas looked down at Elladan then back across in to Ro's distraught face. _It's time to be brave, Legolas, just like you keep telling Ada you are. Strong enough to prowl, strong enough to patrol, and definitely strong enough to keep your friends safe when one is hurt and the other scared… I just wish Ada was here to make sure I'm doing it right!_

Nodding once, Legolas came to a decision. Placing one hand on Elladan's head, and clasping the other tighter within Ro's grip, he lifted his face to feel the songs of the trees, which had swirled around his lonely spirit all through the night.

'We need to be brave, Ro, just like Glorfy and 'Restor were, just like my Ada and yours are.'

'…And Ammë.'

Startled for a moment, Legolas thought about that. He could not truly remember his mother, nor how she had acted, so could not say whether his naneth had been brave or strong. But, thinking about it, he knew that Ada had loved her very much, and that his brothers and sister talked about her all of the time, telling stories and laughing about the tricks she would play on Ada and the elves in court.

_And you had to be brave to try to trick Ada. He is a King, after all!_

Nodding again, Legolas agreed.

'Yes, and your ammë. And Nero too. He's always brave; he even argues with my Ada.'

Eyes wide, Ro gasped.

'He does? He must have a great big sword then. Glorfy told me that the only reason he can argue with my Ada is because he fought a Balrog, and, and, 'once you feel real fire, the fire from your Ada's eyes isn't quite so scary'. That's what he said. And when Dan asked how he could argue with 'Restor, even when nobody else will, even when _Ada_ doesn't argue with him, he said he only does it because he has a big sword, and 'swift legs, just in case'. So I think that means that when me and Dan are old enough to have swords, we won't have to do lessons anymore. Because we're fast, me and Dan, and we can run away with Glorfy.'

An abrupt silence fell over the whispering pair as they felt the presence of another loom over them. Gazing up with apprehension clear on their faces, both settled – if only slightly – when they saw it to be the human that had untied them, and cleaned the cuts and abrasions from the ropes. As they watched, the man crouched down at their feet and raised one hand slowly towards them. Gesturing slightly, the fingers waggled towards Elladan's face, and the palm turned upwards in a silent question.

Knowing that the time had come to move, Legolas squeezed Ro's hand once more, and placed a kiss on Elladan's hair.

Stoically ignoring the startled whimper that rose from Elrohir's throat, he gazed at their captor, and past him to the waiting huddle of men.

Then, standing silently, he followed the outstretched finger of their captor to the humans, was lifted once more on to a saddle and before he could call out any words to Ro, was carried off in to the early dawn.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Watching the whole scene with anger growing slowly inside of him, Radall could not help but also feel grief for the elfling left behind. The conspicuously empty hand now bereft of comfort, he saw the small fingers twist in to the front of his brother's tunic, scraping nails over the fine weave as though trying to capture the essence of not only his twin, but the very fabric of the people who had made, cleaned and chosen the garment for his brother's use.

_His people. His parents. They are all in the clothing, the braids, the language. Ah, to belong so fully to one place, one family and be dragged away from it. I admit, I had never considered home to be important until I realised that I had helped to destroy these little ones own._

Sighing once more, he lowered his head. _And now comes the truly unsavoury part_. Hearing the clearing of more than one impatient throat behind him, he moved forward again, and spoke in a soft voice.

'Elrohir? Elrohir, we must go now. I will take Elladan, alright little one? I will keep him safe, he will stay with me until we arrive at the village. I will let no harm come to him, little elf. I swear it. Now you must let go, you must let me…'

His hands moved towards the tiny elf's, and he began to pry the clinging fingers from the fabric wound so tightly around them. But no matter how he tried, the small body just seemed to melt in to his twin, the two inseparable even with one incoherent.

Sensing the rustling and advance of many of the anxious men in the camp, Radall grew slightly rougher.

'Elrohir, you must let him go. It is not far now, and we do not stop until we arrive. Release him, and you will be back together sooner. Elrohir!'

The louder his voice became, the deeper the elflings hands dug, until the two were literally wrestling over Elladan's body. And combined with the rough handling, with the fever and the cut to his head, Elladan's pain could not be ignored any longer. Elrohir felt it before his twin, and Radall lost some of his balance as the elfling released his brother to clutch tightly at his own head, but Radall was distracted from that surprising move by the far more interesting – to him, at least – movement from his adopted captive.

'Elladan?'

The white face creased with a mixture of pain and indecision – returning to the world of waking and answering his brother's persistent cries, or staying in the warm dark, where his head was whole and he was not soaked with sweat and tears. Yet in the end, the choice was not his to make, and the elfling whimpered as the distress of the last hours caught up with him.

Rolling instinctively towards his twin, Radall could only gaze with shame as the pair wrapped shaking arms around each other, weeping their fear and misery in to the grass beneath them. The frenzied whispers in a language he could not comprehend were barely noticed by the human who still sat close enough to touch, yet felt the distance between them open up like a chasm. The brothers had slipped in to their own world as soon as their minds had reconnected, and Radall realized that he would now have a far more difficult time holding his elf than he had before.

He was not slow-witted. Although he cared for the little ones, he knew what he was – a part of the humans that had attacked these elves in their own home, injured and perhaps killed some of their family and carried them away, separating them from each other and terrifying them out of their minds. However well he had cared for Elladan before, he doubted that the elfling would permit such treatment now. _And you are saddened, are you not, Rad? For the first time, you allowed yourself to care for another being, and now it has resulted in that person resenting you. Fearing you and all you are. Now there is a lesson you should have learned long ago – a lesson in distance, and a warning against feeling…_

And although he was mortally ashamed as soon as the thought passed through his mind, Radall found himself wishing that the little one had not woken up.

Feeling another presence behind him, Radall shook his head and spoke softly, knowing Aran would hear his words.

'They weep for the life we have taken from them, Aran, and I do not know what to do now. I cannot bring myself to separate them, yet you declare us ready to move on. How can I tear apart these two who have only just found each other again?'

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder and he shrugged it off with a twist of his body.

'Do not think to appease me, oh leader. This could all have been avoided if not for your stubbornness and inability to see an alternative solution for the coming winter months and the deprivation you fear.'

A hiss rang out low and dangerous and the hand clamped down again, firm and angry.

'I am not known for my patience Radall. And you would do well to hold your tongue for the remainder of this journey. As for what to do? I will solve your problem.'

Striding past the crouched man, Aran marched to the elflings' side, and before Rad could move at all, he grabbed Elrohir, wrenched him from his brother's grasp and turned to leave, holding the child round the waist, tucked under one arm as wild screams rang out across the clearing.

'By the Gods, Aran! Was it not you who declared the need for silence? Those noises will bring any interested creatures from far and wide to investigate.'

Snarling angrily, the fair haired man's face twisted with fury.

'I have had enough, Radall! If you wish to stay here and parlay with the crows, speak now and I will be glad to leave you in the elflings' place for their parents to find. We no longer need silence, as we are almost home. The elves are tracking us, as was our intention from the start. We will ransom the children, have enough money to see us through the winter and forget this whole debacle ever occurred. And if you question me again, I will not just abandon you here, but leave enough pieces of you scattered around that it would take a whole elven army to put you back together.' Shaking the still keening elfling under his arm, and avoiding flailing feet as best he could, the raging leader took two steps forward to stand face to face with his supposed subordinate.

'And I have no problem doing that, Rad. I have had my fill of this situation, of problem children, of elves that scream and kick and fight like the hordes of hell are upon them. In fact, paring you in to smaller portions would probably relieve a lot of the tension I have building inside. Now pick up that elfling, get on your horse and get moving. We should be home by morning.'

Ignoring the whimpers from the despairing child he carried, Aran marched to his own mount, swung up to the saddle and placed Elrohir in front of him. Squirming and writhing in abortive attempts to get back to his twin, the small form tried in vain to find an escape from the iron arm around his chest. Tears streaming down pale cheeks and noises once more rising in volume and pitch, the man on horseback shook his captive once more, to no avail. Seeing the rising anger surging forth once more, Rad rushed forward and placed one hand on the small face, locking eyes with the teary ones peering down at him.

'Sssh, Elrohir. I promise I will bring Elladan to you, safe and whole in just a little while. Do you hear me, little one? Do you understand? _Elladan_, your brother. You will be together soon.'

Hitched breathing replaced the wails, and the tears, although still present, danced but remained shimmering in the bright eyes.

'Elladan?'

The soft whisper struck to the heart of Radall's stoic soul and he nodded firmly, wiping a tear track from one cheek with his thumb.

'Yes, Elrohir. Elladan and your other friend, you'll see them both. Now you keep quiet for Aran, alright?'

With this, he glanced up to receive a stiff nod of thanks from his leader, and then backed away as the big horse pushed by him. The elfling's locked eyes kept his captured until Aran's solid back blocked his view once more, and he dropped his head with an exhausted sigh. _Never have I felt so fatigued by a situation, never have I felt so desolate. If I had known, Gods if I had only known…_

Turning back to his own charge, he bowed his head as he took in the change in the previously limp form. Now the elfling was tightly curled in to a ball, hands locked over his ears to block out the sounds of his twin's fear, and, Rad suspected, trying to cradle his wounded head from the hard ground.

Approaching slowly, he dropped to his knees behind the elfling, and reached out a gentle hand.

'Elladan? Little one, we must leave, must follow Elrohir to the village. Come, little one, turn over, let me look at you.'

Expecting a fearful reaction, he prepared himself for a sudden movement, so was stunned when the elfling instead turned in towards the outstretched hand and grabbed on with tiny fingers, pulling it to his face and pressing it hard against his cheek.

'Elrohir?'

Silenced by the obvious need in that one word, Radall reached out with his other hand and drew the small body towards himself, hooking his arms beneath head and knees and supporting the still floppy form as Elladan curled in to his hold. The front of his tunic bunched within two ferocious fists and his neck grew wet as tears ran under his collar, but laying his face against the raven black hair, he could not help but silently thank every greater power he had ever heard of for this second chance to help his elfling.

'We will go to him, little elf. We will bring you together again, do not worry. Now you sleep, Elladan, as I have naught for your pain, and the journey will be difficult. Just sleep little one, and when you awake, your brother will be that much closer.'

Although he was not sure that the elfling was listening to any of his words, and even less sure he could understand him, Rad could not help but talk to the child. He knew at least that he would respond to his brother's name and his own, but more than that, he realized that his tone was far more important than his words. Like he would for a frightened animal, he stroked the smooth hair and rubbed the trembling back, and throughout, kept repeating both names and the word 'safe'.

_If by the end of all this, these elflings care to learn anything, that is the word I would have them know. That is what I would have for them. And by the Gods themselves, I will do all that I can in order to get that for them._

Feeling the body grow more relaxed and slump further against him, he made his move, shifting the elfling higher and swinging up in to the saddle of his prepared horse. Sila greeted him with an affectionate nicker and tail flick, and then when a soft word, began the final stretch of their journey. Trusting the mare to follow the remainder of the gang, he kept both hands tight around the child, one on the back of the dark head, the other supporting the lower back with warm fingers splayed wide to encircle the pained form.

_Sila will carry us, little one, smooth and steady to your twin. Then when we reach the village, you will begin your days as the means by which the people will eat this winter. They shall hold you in high esteem, I am sure, little one, and by the Gods, if I have anything to say about it, they will treat you like royalty. How would you enjoy that, Elladan? Royalty for you and your friends. At least you can tell your family about that, when they come for you… The days when you were Lords of the village, even one so small as you. So be brave, little one. All will be well. You must believe that. All will be well._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

'We have their tracks Sire! Multiple horses, broken branches, all the signs of human passage.'

The blond head whipped towards the speaker, and blue eyes seared in to their target. Yet instead of the determined urgency that had marked the actions of each elf in the forest thus far, Thranduil could not help but notice the guilty hesitation which coloured what should have been a welcome development.

'Then why are we not following them, Nerometh? And why do you seem to regret this news?'

The dark head shook and as Thranduil knew he would, Nero raised his eyes to meet his leader's gaze directly.

'They are the same tracks that we saw on the night of our journey to Imladris, Sire. They have the same strange patterns on the hoof marks, obviously notched to tell those of their own mounts from other groups. If I had taken more notice of them in the first instance, rather than choosing to ignore them…'

Swinging down from his steed with fire in his eyes, Thranduil was a terror to behold.

Yet still his captain met the furor with the dignity born of many years at the King's side, and the self-imposed duty to withstand any attack the father before him held him due for.

'You would take this situation on to your own shoulders to bear, Nerometh? You, who informed me of those self same humans, you who led us away from such danger, you who cradled my son after the nightmares from that evening threatened the safety of his dreams? And what of me? Should I too look to blame you for my son being snatched, for three of our elflings being stolen from our midst and two of the greatest of our kind left bloodied on our peaceful and previously unstained soil? You would claim all this for yourself and leave none for me, who gambled and whiled away merry hours as danger crept towards my youngest? Aye, Nerometh, you take all this, and leave naught for your King. Naught but emptiness in my heart and in my arms as the child who holds all the goodness my queen and I ever possessed is snatched from his place within them.'

Bowing his head and gripping the upper arm of his pale faced captain, Thranduil allowed one tear to track down his cheek before stemming the flow once more.

'You will not take that guilt from me, Nerometh, no matter how you would try to spare me. _I_ made the decision to ride for Imladris rather than follow those humans safely beyond elven borders. _I_ allowed my child to venture in to woods where I _knew_ humans had been such a short time before. And _I_ will be the one who bears the nightmares for the rest of eternity if my little one comes to any harm due to _my_ follies.'

Turning back to his horse once more, the elf who had always sat proud and tall upon his mount seemed to Nerometh's eyes to grow in stature even as he watched, bolstered by duty and a grim determination. Hair glinting in the early morning light, Nero wondered at the strength of his leader, who had lost his beloved such a short time before and was now faced with another loss of equal proportion.

_Nay, as with Ataralassë, he had known her feelings upon her departure; her love for him and their children, her wish for him to raise their elflings with joy and honour and above all, with love enough for both parents. But with Legolas, the very best of all his mother was and the very best that all his Ada dreamed to be had come to life. And if that elfling should be harmed, if the Prince should believe himself bereft of all hope, if he d– well, then there would be no more Thranduil. Even Oropherion strength cannot endure under such burdens, and the seeming limitless light of the Greenwood would stutter and fail under such a tragedy. To lose a wife, terrible. To lose a child…_

Shaking himself from such thoughts, Nerometh marched to his own horse with renewed purpose.

_Then it is decided. There can be no alternative; the Prince must be retrieved, unharmed and healthy, for the sake of Greenwood, for the sake of Thranduil, and for the good of everything that the child embodies. _

Watching as first Elrond and Celebrian then Thranduil urged their horses from the small clearing, eyes riveted to the minute tracks discovered by their search parties, Nerometh whispered words of encouragement to his steed and followed. Yet all his thoughts were turned to his King and Prince and their devotion to each other. And in his mind was burned the image of a lone tear track left achingly damp down the cheek of the strongest elf he had ever known – undone by the absence of his little leaf.

_And so it shall be done._

The sun began to rise, and the whispers of the trees sang of a new dawn as the group broke in to a steady canter.

_We shall see it done._

The branches lifted, leaves whistled with hope and the elves dared to listen as they tracked the remnants of a doomed raiding party – bandits with no future to speak of.

_I shall see it done. _


	13. Point of No Return

**Title:**** 'Bridges'**

**Author:**** freeflow**

**Rating:**** T**

**Disclaimer****, A/N, Summary:**** See Chapter 1**

Chapter 13

'Riders coming in! Riders from the north! It is Aran! Aran's back!'

As the dawn broke over the tops of the trees, one tiny village came awake with a jolt as the longed for sound of hoof beats neared. Breaking through the surrounding line of foliage, men and horses streamed, chests of both mount and rider heaving and breathing ragged.

Shuffling from the closest house, one woman tugged her cloak closer, seeking to shield herself against the chill in the silent light of early morn. Frowning at the hurried arrival of their hunter-gatherers, Frisa made her stilted way to the centre of their home, gathering with the converging mass of women and children clamouring to see their loved ones once more.

Waiting beside the raised plinth set up for such occasions, the women started to arrange barrels of water - warmed for washing on one side, cool and flavoured with mint leaves on the other - as the children ran back and forth, carrying breads and cakes from the stores to feed the menfolk.

'Did ya bring us lots to eat, Aran?'

'You've been gone for ages! Did you see any dragons?'

All the questions and shouts whirled around the heavy air as Aran sat, trapped in stillness, before the people he had sworn to serve.

'Aran.'

The solid voice cut through the high pitched cries of the children, and had the blond haired bandit turning with barely disguised resignation to the speaker. Slipping one leg over his saddle and sliding to the ground, he bowed his head as Frisa took a step forward, and returned with a soft sigh.

'Mother.'

Raking her gaze over her only child, she took in the reddened eyes, the too stiff posture and the gritted teeth. Then her old eyes took in the bundle wrapped tightly in her son's arms, and the way he turned slightly, as though trying to hide the form from her. But she had known him too long to be fooled by his nonchalance, and his entrance back in to the village had been far too rushed for her to take anything for granted.

Catching the man's face with one calloused hand, she forced him to look at her, and tried to read the truth in his features. Once more confronted with averted eyes and reluctant actions, the woman felt a creeping anxiety sweep over her.

'What is wrong, boy? Why do you arrive on trembling horses as though the very flames of the pit lick at your feet? And what do you hold so close yet look as though it pains you to do so?'

Taking another step, Frisa placed a hand on her son's arm, inadvertently brushing against the loot he held. Gasping, she pulled back in shock as the bundle wriggled and squeaked, and Aran readjusted his hold to stop the struggles.

Appearing from under the restricting blanket, dark eyes peered out at Frisa and she placed a shaking hand over her mouth.

'Oh Aran. What have you done? We ask you for food and supplies, and you bring more mouths to feed?'

Simultaneously chastened and angered by the outright disappointment in his mother's voice, Aran hefted the child higher as he towered over her. He spat with fury tingeing his words as the body in his arms twisted once more, tiny hands pushing at his chest in futile attempts to escape the building wrath. With both elfling and woman forcing him to account for his actions, Aran's finely strung patience snapped, and all of the doubts and questions he had asked himself over the previous days spewed forth.

'You do not know, mother! You do not see what it is we have to contend with, how little there is this season. The animals have gone to ground, the fruits of the forest decimated by too little rain and too hot a summer. What the sun has not damaged the wind has, and we were forced to find an alternative. _Any _alternative. This is the only way, the _only_ way we could find - that _I_ could find to see us through this winter. And you would have me crawl to you for acceptance of my decisions? It is _I_ who has to corral these men, mother, it is I who must answer to them when we come up with nothing, day after day. And it was _I_ who made the decision to take what we could from the forest, whether it took one or all of us to do it.'

Eyes wide and darting from the face of the mystery child to that of her own flesh and blood, his words suddenly resonated in her head.

'Took? What do you mean, however many it took? How many of you did it _take_, Aran?'

As if on cue, wails rose up from the crowd behind them, and Aran's blazing countenance darkened with the knowledge of what those cries meant. Wives no longer waited to greet husbands who would never appear, met instead with the news of their loss, with the thought of futures with no partner to bear out the harsh winters and blistering summers. Women who gathered their bereft children to them and ran back to lonely huts, or collapsed to the hard earth, raking clawing fingers through dust and dirt as though to bind themselves to something solid, something that would not disappear in to the woods and never return.

Head spinning between cries of dismay and the shrinking form of her son, Frisa hissed in denial. 'Tell me you did not take this child Aran – tell me that you did not lose our men, your friends in taking this child from its kin.'

Fired once more by an unmistakable pride – not only in himself but in those who had fallen in this latest journey to provide for their people – Aran was bolstered by his unshakeable belief in this being the only choice he could have made.

'There can be no argument, mother. Yes, we lost men, and no, I could not even retrieve them for proper funeral rites.' Here he paused as a tear ran down his mother's face, as she no doubt remembered the loss of her own husband to the depths of the forest. But not even his own grief could stop his tirade and he forced the image of his weeping mother from years gone-by aside, choosing to stems the tears of the here and now instead. 'But you cannot understand what we have to face in these times, mother. There _is_ nothing to find, nothing to bring back. The further we go, the longer it takes us to return. And by the time we travel back, much of what we have gained is lost once again just to keep us alive for the journey. But this,' shaking the form in his hands and receiving a whimper and a squirm in return, 'this will _buy_ us a winter feast that will go down in history. We will not have to travel to dangerous lands to bring back scratchings of meat and limp fruits, bartered from the back of a peasant's wagon. We will be like kings, and have the means to survive far in to the spring. Yes, you may well weep for those we lost – but do not neglect those who arrive back as champions of our village. Those who fought to glean this treasure from the wilderness. They deserve your respect and I will not have you or anyone else castigate them for their bravery.'

Breathless and trembling from his emotional exertion, Aran suddenly recognized the silence around them, and raised his eyes to sweep over each of the faces in the crowd, still waiting for the appearance of supplies and skins in recompense for those who had not returned. As the men stood with faces down turned, the women had utter fury written across their worn features, and the children huddled uncertain behind their mother's legs.

Leaping on to the plinth and pulling the blanket from the child in his arms, Aran stood before the gathering and spun the elfling around to face the people.

'Here is our harvest, our means of surviving this winter. There will be no feast, no food and no new skins until our business with the elves is done. And this means that unless you would all starve, we must work together to see this through to the end.'

Horrified voices rose up and many of the men backed away further, as the cold light of day revealed the terrified and teary eyes of the elfling hanging from Aran's unforgiving arm.

'What do you mean, the elves? What have they to do with this?'

'Where is the food? What did our menfolk die for if not to support us through the dark days?'

'Why do have that child, Aran, why would you have a babe in place of what we truly need?'

'You would have us starve, Aran, there is no dealing with elves. Why would they help us? For an age we have lived apart, and the likelihood of that changing now is –'

Raising his voice over that of the grating questions fired at him, Aran stood for no more.

'This is why they will help us!'

Grabbing the dark hair at the side of the elfling's face, he pulled back the black braids and brandished the revealed skin at his audience. As one the women gasped and raised shocked hands to mouths, whilst the children directed questioning eyes to their parents, wondering why such strange ears would be so important to anyone.

Utter silence reigned in the clearing, and Aran found himself at a loss as at least three women began to weep behind their fingers.

'Th, this is why the elves will come. And we shall keep their children until they assist us. Ransom will be delivered, and we will have enough treasures to keep us fed until next winter, should we so wish.'

The crying did not stop, but the men began to nod their heads.

'We have seen the deprivation that little food brings. There is nothing to be found out there. There is no food to bring home. The only place where such luxuries exist is within the boundaries of Rivendell, and there we could not linger, as parties of elves pass by armed with their spells and swords daily. But they have the means to provide us with what we wish. And they shall do it too.'

By now the whole village had clustered around to hear the entrancing words of their leader, and many found themselves growing to dislike the child hanging in his hold.

'Well, if they have so much, surely they could spare some for us.'

'We are only asking for a trade, it is not so unreasonable to expect them to assist us when we have something that they would like back.'

As the murmurs grew in force, Frisa found herself growing more and more outraged. And son or not, she would not stand by and allow this to continue.

'By the Gods Aran, I had no idea I had raised such a fool! You expect the elves to just give you everything you want and walk away? You have no idea what you have brought upon us!'

Jeering at the older woman, the crowd began to turn on the voice of reason, fired instead by the ideals that Aran was displaying for them.

'What would you know of the elves, Frisa? We have not heard anything of them in two generations, and you would tell us of how they act? Go back to your hut, old woman and let your son do the planning. Any import you had in this village died with your husband.'

The disembodied voice came from the centre of the crowd, but Frisa did not need a face to know that many of those gathered felt the same way. Yet the stab of pain which appeared with the mention of her departed spouse was quickly chased away when she looked back at the tears tracking down the elfling's alabaster face, and she moved to the edge of the plinth and raised her arms to take the child.

'I know more of elves than you ever will, any of you. I have met elves, have walked among them in one of their camps, and have heard their songs. They saved my life and that of my future husband, and my only child was named for one of them. So do not presume to question me on the issue of elf kind, as whilst you base all your plans on myths and hearsay, I have felt the magic of their people. And the harm you have done their children will not be so easily forgiven.'

Scoffing at his mother, Aran nevertheless lowered the child in to her arms, and watched in surprise as the formerly stiff and unyielding form slid small arms around his mother's neck and began to weep openly against her shoulder. Realizing that she was making small, unidentifiable noises, he dropped to a knee and watched her mouth move in indecipherable shapes.

'You speak their language?'

Shaking her head, Frisa could not help but enjoy the look of confusion on her son's face.

'So you would believe me now, boy? Your mother whom you mocked just moments ago? You would do well never to doubt me Aran. I thought you would have realized that by now.'

Frowning at the reversal of power once again, Aran jumped down from his place on the plinth and ignoring his mother's resounding rebuttal, addressed the crowd at large once more.

'The plan is simple. We have captured three of the elf kind's children. They will remain hidden in my home until the elves arrive to parlay for their release. In the meantime, return to your homes, rest, and remember those that we have lost. The time for mourning will come, but for now, we look to our future. When the elves arrive, our new way of life can begin.'

Despondent mutterings and sighs clouded what should have been a joyous reunion, and Aran could not help but hear the muffled sounds of weeping from behind closed doors. But turning to his mother and her new charge, he maintained his steadfast expression.

'Tell him we will be meeting with his friend and brother soon – that he will be returned once his kin arrive for him and meet our demands. Tell him –'

'I do not speak elvish, Aran. I simply know some of the words from a song that your namesake sung one night when we were awaiting the dawn. I do not even know what it means, just that the words seemed to calm me down, though I did not understand them.'

Rubbing a tired hand over his face, Aran sighed once more.

'Gods, mother, what is all this? Never before have you mentioned this elf-man, nor any time when you met with elves. How is it that I have never heard of this?'

'You had not been born, Aran, and it is hardy advisable to tell our people of meetings with elves. You know what they believe - you believed it yourself for many a year – that the elves are mystical, tricky beings who collect treasures and care nothing for humans. That they command nature itself and bend it to their will. But those who saved me out on the Old Forest Road had no such powers, nor were they unsympathetic to my plight. I had fallen afoul of a wild boar, and when your father was injured saving me from it, they arrived as if from nowhere and pulled us both from further harm – then nursed your father back to health. There was no spell to mend him, just herbs and rest, but they were utterly spellbinding, if you will forgive the expression. Open and friendly, each and every one of them, and I spent many long hours conversing with their leader, a dark haired elf named Aran.'

'And from this you gleaned your seemingly endless knowledge of elven customs and responses?'

Glaring at the man before her, Frisa searched for some sign of the little boy she had once held; the open, loving face of her husband writ anew upon their greatest creation.

'What happened to you, Aran? You left our village a proud man, mulishly stubborn of that there is no doubt, but true. Yet where has my child gone? Where is the humour, the goodness that elevated you above the rest of your riders? Why would my little one tear a child – children, if what you say is true – away from their family just to feed himself?'

'It is not to feed _myself_ mother, it is to feed everyone else! Do you think that I would have done this had there been another way? The later it got, the less we could find, until eventually every man who rode with me wanted to return home and live out the winter on nuts and berries, like squirrels. We could not live like that, mother, and you know this! There are women with child who need real food; children who would not rally against such weather as we will see; old ones who would starve just to see their own families through the cold. It would not have worked, and this fell in to our laps. They were there, there for the taking, and so take we did. And now we must see this through, for all our sakes.'

Shaking her head and stroking the hair of the child in her arms, Frisa began to lead the way back to their home.

'Well, that I will agree with, Aran. What has been done cannot be undone, by you, me or any of elvenkind. They may be powerful, but not even they have the ability to alter the past. We shall see this through, for better or worse. But I hope for all our sakes that those elves I met so long ago were not exceptions. For we will need as much sympathy as we can glean when this little one's parents arrive looking for their babe.'

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The path he wove was long and unsteady, but the rising of the sun has helped raise his spirits somewhat. As the golden light glanced off his hair, setting sparkles of dawn cascading down his back, Glorfindel stopped to lean against the nearest trunk, drawing a deep breath and thanking the Valar for the warmth of their creation.

'And let this new day see the retribution I demand writ large upon this band of slaughterers, those who would massacre plant and elf alike in their lust.'

The last word set off tremors of horror which resounded within Glorfindel's very soul as his mind reeled off hundreds of possibilities which his little elflings could be suffering through at that very moment.

_Please, by Eru's will let them be safe and together. For all the myriad horrors I have seen over two lifetimes of strife, let none be visited upon them, the most innocent of all of your children. Do not let my failings-_

At this, Glorfndel straightened once more. He had sworn no more wallowing, no more petrifying hesitation. He had no time to waste, and such emotions were not helpful in keeping him marching ahead. Beginning again, he raised his head and basked in the white glow for a moment, then took the next step on his hunt.

He knew that he had covered a lot of ground, although being on foot had surely slowed him some. However, the one advantage he had over his quarry was the knowledge of being able to travel in a straight line. Rather than having to lay out a false path and then redirect it to slow down their pursuers, Glorfindel knew where these humans were going. He had recognized the markings on the hilt of a sloppily swung blade just before he had dispatched the man wielding it, and now had no doubt as to where he had to travel.

It was strange coincidence, he decided, that he should know the markings so well, as there were hundreds of human villages scattered over middle earth, and he would willingly admit that he knew but a handful of them. But Glorfindel was not one to cast aside small favours – having lived two lives at the pleasure of the Valar and having felt their power sweep his dying feä away from the fiery remains of a balrog, he was more than willing to accept this gift for what it was – and this was the means to find his stolen charges.

Such hope and renewed faith had bolstered the golden haired elf to unforeseen proportions, and even the wounds sustained in battle faded in to inconsequence as he surged forward. His head was clear and although his face remained stained with spatterings of blood, he could no longer remember whether it was his or not.

Nothing mattered beyond finding the elflings, and this he would do, no matter how many humans he had to kill to do it. The thought of such unflinching violence would normally have slowed the seneschal, the very nature of such declarations rubbing sorely against his peaceful nature. Yet at this moment, in this place, Glorfindel could not see any harm in removing such heartless creations from the surface of Arda.

_Humans may well be equally the creations of the Valar, but this has got to be a declaration of war against us, and the very Gods who made us. Elflings are everything we could hope for, our way of experiencing what the Valar themselves did in shaping us. For some of their species to take our young away - for naught but greed! - goes against everything that is good. And I will not stand for it._

The trees whispered and reached out for the elf as he gained in speed, and sung of his nearness to the source of his woes.

They are here, here

The little ones they cry

Sun elf we hear them

Bring them back to us

We would have them play beneath us once more

We would have them safe and free

And the cries of those who had felt the cut of blade or scorch of flame echoed just as soundly, spurring him on further, faster, furious.

They kill us, harm us

They burn our brother

Steal our little ones

Sun elf knows and fights and kills

Sun elf shines for us

And with such messages ringing in his tapered ears, the golden elf drew his sword, and crept towards the village beyond the tree line.

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'Halt! Who approaches the King of Greenwood and the Lord of Imladris?'

As the horses thundered to a stop and stood tossing their heads in proud greeting, a silver haired elf shouldered his stallion to the head of the column and ignored Nerometh's question. Looking out in to the collection of mounted elves before him, Lord Celeborn of Lothlorien scanned the faces and called out with pained anticipation.

'Celebrian!'

As a murmur made itself known amongst the ranks of both groups, only those with the quickest eyes caught the flash of two silver heads bolting from opposing sides and meeting in the centre, clutching each other in grasping arms.

Allowing tears to fall in streams from her pale eyes, Celebrian raised her head to gaze desolately in to her father's face, and the surrounding trees shook with the force of her grief.

Wiping the shining tracks from his daughter's cheeks, Celeborn touched his forehead to hers, longing to take this pain away from his only child. Seeing her grasping a small bundle in her left hand, he reached down to touch the soft cloth and then shuddered in realization of its significance.

'This is one of the twins' tunics, my child?'

Opening her mouth to reply, Celebrian could not help when a sob bubbled out in place of words, and her father gathered her to him once more. Yet he did not go without answer, as his son in law approached the pair, and placed a soft hand on his wife's back.

'It is Elladan's, my Lord Celeborn, and is stained with blood. We found it some time ago on the path we were following.'

Celeborn winced as recognition of one of his wife's visions flashed before him, the image of Celebrian crying on her knees, clutching just such a garment. He had thought it bad when Galadriel had spoken of the scene, but to witness the after-effects on his child was far worse than anything he had imagined.

But he was here to find his grandsons, not waste time worrying over the past and things which may never come to pass.

'Then you have a trail to follow? A trace of where they may be?'

'We know where they are going, and who has them. Humans that crossed my party's path to Imladris some days ago.'

Looking up to meet the glistening eyes of the King of the Greenwood, Celeborn was startled to see the naked fear and guilt present there. Even after the death of his father, Thranduil had remained strong and fearsome, never betraying an ounce of grief to his people. But now, with the loss of a son, this proud elf was coming undone. And Celeborn did not like it. He did, however, understand the righteousness of such feelings in a leader, and the need for Thranduil to feel the guilt he was.

He was no fool, and could recognize the power such strong emotions wrought in an elf such as he. So he did not attempt to console Thranduil; rather he nodded, and brought proceedings back to focus.

'Then we shall carry on our journey.' Motioning with a flick of his wrist, the Lorien party turned to flank the Imladris and Greenwood contingent, adding their fresh strength to the weary and grieving groups. Haldir, leading the Lorien group, fell in beside Nerometh and without words, the two led the mounted elves on their way.

Seeing that his second in command had everything under control, Celeborn turned back to the parents he held before him. Tears no longer flowing but the beautiful eyes of his daughter glowing with a watery, fragile hope, the Lord of Lothlorien raised a palm to the side of her face and stroked a gentle thumb over the pale cheek. Addressing the two fathers staring at him with suddenly child-like need for direction, he said, 'We will find them, my friends. They are not in any danger for as long as we journey to rescue them. They are being held, of that I am sure, but they cannot be injured unless their captors wish to lose their ransom.' Anticipating Celebrian's response, he pushed the tunic down once more, as his daughter clutched it to her chest. 'And do not worry, my little one. There is not so much blood there as you would think, and those of our line are quite resilient. They have enough of their Daeradar in them to survive far worse, and enough of their Ada to carry on in the face of overwhelming odds.' Earning a small smile from that beautiful face, he continued. 'They will be well, and we shall have them back with us by nightfall.'

Now stepping away with one last touch to his daughter's face, Celeborn swung back up on to his horse and watched as the Lord and Lady of Imladris once more took their places beside him, ready to commence.

Meeting Thranduil's eyes for a moment, Celeborn declared;

'And for those who dare take our little ones from us, there can be nothing but the darkest of days.'

Kicking his horse forward, he led on as four of the most powerful elves in all of Arda surged forward; in to the gloom of the trees, in to the world of kidnappers and bandits, in to the world where their children lay parted, injured and alone.

And for their parents, the darkest of days would never be dark enough for those they followed.


	14. Old Friends and New Enemies

**Title:**** 'Bridges'**

**Author:**** freeflow**

**Rating:**** T**

**Disclaimer****, A/N, Summary:**** See Chapter 1**

Sorry for the huge wait, but real life is ruining my ficcing flow!

Chapter 14

Glorfindel could see the dagger in his mind's eye, glinting dully against an elven sheath. The handle had been wound around with decorative, inlaid ribbon that had begun to thin with age, and his attention had immediately been drawn to the bronze shape molded in to the hilt, obviously crafted with all the care due to such a fine weapon. But it had not been elven made; long years in both this life and his last had ensured that the Lord Glorfindel knew a lot about blades. And for all of its deadly beauty, this was no elf dagger.

Still, at the time, it had held naught but a passing interest for the golden warrior, occupied as he was with tickling Elrohir whilst his brother attacked from behind. Eventually pulling both twins in front of him – holding one wriggling form, whilst with a controlled over-the-shoulder flip had the other join his brother - he had pinned the giggling elflings with a playful growl and glare, declaring himself to be the winner of their impromptu wrestling match. Yet as merry laughter rang out from the doorway, Glorfindel lost his hold on the writhing bodies before him, and shrieking his defeat, two streaks of raven hair once more took to the corridors.

'My apologies, Lord. It would seem that my arrival has solicited your downfall.'

Straightening up from his position on the floor, Glorfindel had known immediately who this elf must be.

'Prince Erutur of the Greenwood, I presume? Then indeed, this is a sad event, your highness. Dark is the day when the Silvan elves would side with the Peredhil twins against a dedicated servant of Imladris. Surely you realise that you have doomed us all to an afternoon of broken vases and Erestor's unbearable gloom as those two run amok through the halls?'

That laughter sounded again, and Glorfindel smiled in return.

'Then I can only hope that you will forgive me, my Lord, and allow me the honour of lending some Silvan assistance in rounding up your errant charges. For I have witnessed the Lord Erestor wage his war against the twin stars, and he does not seem to be succeeding in his campaign.'

Moving forward, Glorfindel had touched hand to heart and formally greeted Thranduil's oldest child with the bow and sincere warmth that this elf unconsciously demanded. Like his father and forefathers before him, Erutur had the bearing and unmistakable regal stance of the line of Greenwood monarchs, yet clearly tempered with a modesty and affable nature that, if Glorfindel was honest, he would have said was limited in Oropher's blood kin. Still, willing to judge every elf on his own merit, he was pleased to recognise the makings of a noble heir in this dark haired Silvan, and appreciated the chance to forge a friendship within the peaceful domain of Imladris.

With this first meeting, Glorfindel had formed a strong attachment with Erutur, or Aran, as he had requested all whom he met to call him. Yet it was not until many days later that Glorfindel had recalled the odd dagger and had asked the Prince of its origins.

'Ah, now therein lies a tale, my Lord, and one which I am pleased you would have me tell. For as many times as my father would regale me of his distrust of humans and the circumstances under which such feelings developed, I was always of the whimsical hope that I may one day befriend some of their race, and this dagger is a constant reminder to me that my Father – mighty in both mind and body though he may be – is not always correct.'

Smiling softly at Glorfindel's raised eyebrow, he could not hold back a small chuckle.

'Although I would be grateful if you would not remind me of that declaration when he is within hearing range.'

Bowing his head in amused agreement, Glorfindel found himself laughing along. 'I have more respect for the sovereignty of Greenwood's King, my Prince – and far more respect for his swordsmanship. You may rest assured that your secret shall remain with me.'

A boyish grin lit the dark but still familiar features with a humour that was all his father's.

'I thank you for your discretion my Lord. As for the dagger, it is a trinket of no real value other than the memories it affords me. Some time ago, on one of my early patrols, we came across an injured human and his betrothed. After hunting the boar which had eluded the man, and aiding both he and his lady, we accompanied them back to their small village. And rather than the expected reception I and my companions were prepared for, they welcomed us with open arms, and enough ale to drown each one of us three times over. This,' he turned the blade lovingly in his hands and allowed the light to play off its polished sheen, 'was the gift presented to me by the lady's father, upon taking our leave. He was grateful for our help, and wished for me to have this, to represent a mere token of his unending thanks. Those were the words he said to me, and I have never forgotten them. And although my father thinks me mad, and worries that the blade will fail me when I need it most, I cannot help but keep it, if only to hold fast to the possibility of friendship between our two races.'

Smiling softly at the earnest expression before him, Glorfindel had bowed his head in respect of the young elf's words, and had chuckled merrily as he thought of Thranduil's reaction to his eldest child choosing to carry a human blade over that of a standard Greenwood warrior's weaponry.

But no matter how amusing that thought had been, and the warmth that memory conjoured in some distant part of his mind, the golden warrior was not, at present, interested in the Silvan royal family's inner workings. He had recognized the symbol on the blade, had seen it again today when he had deflected a slashing blow to his ribs, and again on the rear of an ornately decorated saddle. He knew where that sign came from, and unless the men who had taken his charges had also stolen from Erutur's human friends too, he now had a definite path to follow.

Coincidence it may well have been, but Glorfindel had had too many dealings with the Valar to doubt any event being insignificant – he believed without hesitation the wisdom and work of those who watched over them. If the Valar had seen fit to show him the way, then by Eru himself, he would see it done.

His strengthening steps fired by the power in that promise, he lowered his head and pushed forward, apologizing to Erutur even before he began to wreak his vengeance on those the Prince had taken to his heart. And he shook his head at the sadness he felt as he realized that as much as Erutur's actions had, for a short time, at least, brought the two races together, his own may well, once again, tear them irreparably apart.

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As the sound of a wooden door kicked open with force reverberated around the small structure, Legolas shifted closer towards Elladan and gripped his friend's hand with both of his own.

Lowering his lips to where Dan's head lay, he whispered softly in to one tiny ear, and rubbed the fingers he held with purposeful strokes, intended to both comfort and caress, and, if the Prince was honest, to hopefully help wake his friend, too.

'There's someone coming Dan, but it's alright. I'm here, an' I've been taking lessons from Nero when Ada's not around. He lets me hold his sword sometimes, and I wrestle with Corin and Aran all of the time. They only _let_ me win sometimes - I'm getting really good! Do you remember my brothers? They came to stay before, with you and your Ada and Amme…' The small voice stumbled and faltered, and the breathing hitched. 'Can you hear me Dan? I, I miss them. And Ada. And Nero, and I just want you to-'

Cutting off his words before he burst in to tears, Legolas took a deep breath and held it until he was certain that he would not cry. Curling up beside his friend in the dark, he kept hold of Elladan's hand and pressed his face in to the motionless shoulder, listening to the voices that echoed through the walls.

Even though he had no idea who the voices belonged to, the blond elfling found that he was simply not interested. For so long it had just been silence and hoof beats, human speak and Elladan's deep breathing. When the man who had held him had first thrown him in to this room, his first instinct had been to run, make for the sunlight in the doorway and trust in the trees to lead him home.

But at the recognition of another presence besides he and his captor in the room, he had spun to watch as the tall man placed Elladan on the bench in the corner, covering him with a cloak. Waiting warily, and silently, his back pressed against the wall, he nevertheless knew when he had attracted the man's attention as he had straightened up and looked straight in to Legolas' eyes. For a moment, the two had gazed at each other, trying to decipher the other's intentions. Yet the human had abruptly sighed, turned to stroke the hair from Elladan's face, then with a tiny smile, bowed to the Prince, and left. The heavy bolt which had fallen home as the door closed had held up to Legolas' repeated tugging and kicking, and even the wood in the door did not respond to him.

_It has forgotten the elves, it cannot remember ever being a tree! What it must be like to live within dead walls, talking in an ugly language… Ugh! I am glad that I am not human!_

The thought had driven Legolas back to the comfort of the familiar and elven, and he had stayed with Elladan ever since. But he had yet to see Elrohir, and he grew anxious as Elladan began to whimper in his sleep.

'Shh, shh, Dan, you must be quiet. There are voices upstairs, we must stay quiet! The warriors, they are always quiet in the trees, so that the enemy forgets they are there. Or never know. I don't know which; Corin said that I was too young to worry about being silent yet. Hmm, but Aran and Nero were cross with him for saying that, so I think we have to stay quiet…'

Crouched with one palm now braced on the bed, ready to spring should an opportunity present itself, Legolas sucked in a breath and held it again.

The heavy boots stomped down the stairs leading to their door, and the elfling shuddered with anticipation and anxiety. He would not spring unless he could see a way out, but he nevertheless did not want to be in such a vulnerable position as Elladan when the humans came in. It helped to keep his feet beneath him, feeling the stretch in his calves as he crouched.

The footfalls stopped just outside the door, and Legolas heard the angry muttering again, followed by a higher voice that seemed just as irritated as the first.

_Could it be a lady human? It sounds different to the men we've seen so far, but Ada said that dwarf women are the same as dwarf men, so perhaps it is the same with humans too…_

The door ground open and Legolas' eyes rounded to see the leader of the gang of bandits march in to the room, throwing a sloppy bow towards his companion and shooting a glare at the two elflings taking up space in his house.

Clutching tighter to Elladan's arm, Legolas winced when he heard the soft whimper fall from his friend's lips, and immediately loosened his hold. The noise had a definite effect on the bundle in the second human's arms, however, as Elrohir bucked the support holding him tight and squirmed his way out of his captor's grip.

Taking the space between elf and human in two lithe leaps, Ro hit Legolas head on and wrapped his arms around his playmate, and the two buried their faces in each other's hair. Stretching out a questing hand, Elrohir took hold of his brother's tunic, and without turning to look, shifted so his palm lay face down over Elladan's heart.

Legolas suddenly found that he couldn't stop shaking – although it may have been Elrohir, as they were so tightly packed that he couldn't tell if it was him or not – and became doubly aware of everyone else in the small space, down to the smallest nuance.

He could hear Elladan's individual breaths and feel Ro's thudding heart beat, he could smell the damp earth of the cellar walls and the musty air of rarely used storage space, but most importantly, he knew exactly where the two humans in the room were, and more specifically, when one began to move towards them.

Dragging Elrohir over and away from the smaller of their captors, he glared suspiciously until the woman – _I think it is a woman, as she has a softer face than the menfolk… Oh, I wish Ada was here to tell me! _– paused in her movement, reaching out a shaking hand.

Then, to Legolas' surprise, she began singing an elvish song, badly, and mispronouncing many of the phrases, but he knew it well - he had heard Aran sing it many times, and on this occasion, it instantly brought tears to his eyes. He did not know where it came from, or why this human knew it, but in that instant he found that he wanted his brother so badly that he could not be brave any longer.

With tears streaming down his dirty cheeks, he turned his face to Elrohir, pushed it deep in to his friend's tunic and began to sob.

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For many seasons, Frisa had lived alone with her grief, longing for her late husband and the happy boy her son had once been. She had watched with stoic acceptance as Aran had grown in to a serious, often ruthless man, and had wept in the darkness each time he rode out, and more often than not, again when he returned.

Yet she could hold to those tears as honest expression; for her loss, for times past, for the sadness in Aran's eyes. She claimed each droplet as a memory adored, as a time cherished, as a piece of her life that had shaped her, and she held her head high as she wept. She had suffered for her place in the village, and held strong in the face of the winds of fate.

But when the two tiny elves before her turned their faces away from her and her son, falling in to quiet tears and whispered words, hands gripping the clothes of their silent companion, the grief she had held close to her heart for so long seemed to bubble up her throat, lodging itself so no words could escape her.

Reaching out a trembling hand, she stopped suddenly and wrenched it back, spinning instead to glare at the man she had once believed held the solutions to the problems in their village. A man that she had raised and treasured as the only salvation in her lonely life. The hand she had not dared place on the shaking forms in the corner rose once more, stabbing a furious finger in to her son's chest and shaking free the tirade that had been trapped inside.

'You, you dare to speak of the _good_ of the village, Aran? You would stand there and watch these babies weep for their family and home, a home which you tore them away from, and you dare to proclaim this act _good_?' Taking a swift step forward and staring straight in to a cold version of her husband's eyes, she searched for any semblance of remorse. She found none. 'How many of their family did you have slain, Aran? Did those children see their mother killed, their father? That baby lying so still, did you beat him in to submission, use him as a warning for the others? How could you of all people hurt them so? You, who lost your own fath-'

'You know why I did this, mother! Yes I know the pain of loss, the sting of helplessness and the fear of being alone, but it is those things that have made me able to see the only way for our people to survive. Our losing father all those years ago gave me the strength to take what we need to live, to kill and maim and ride roughshod over all who would hold back their endless supplies whilst we scrabble for crumbs in the dust. It is that loss which-'

The tears streaming down his mother's face did not calm the young captain, and the pitiful whimpering from beyond her did little to stem his tirade, but the soft words she whispered cut him short in mid-sentence.

'Did they see?'

A choked breath and the straightening of his back told her all that she needed to know, but this could not be allowed to end here. Frisa could feel the fire under her skin, building and throbbing and itching to be screamed out, and this man who was once her boy needed to know what he had done.

'You killed their family in front of them?'

For the first time, the blue eyes dipped and shuttered, a glaze crossing their depths before raising once again, trying to hold firm to his beliefs.

'You were not there, mother, you did not see how they moved. We had no choice, to take the children we had to be brutal, relentless. It left little time for-'

'How did they die?'

The crying had stopped and Aran resisted the urge to look around his mother's sturdy frame. He knew, on a level that he could not explain, that two pairs of miserable eyes would be staring at him, and he was already fast approaching his limit. _Damn you mother, I had this all worked out…_

'They fought us to the end. One sustained sword injuries, the other arrow wounds. Both were on the ground as we left, but I doubt they could have survived. The tree nearby was aflame, it is likely that whole piece of forest is now-'

'Oh good gods, Aran! Not only do you slay their kin and take their children, but you burn their trees too? I know that talk of elves is not usual for our people, but surely I have told you of the love that elves have for all things that grow? Burning one of their trees is tantamount to murder, my son, and that is without considering the other atrocities you have committed! Why would anyone be so foolhardy-'

'It was the only way to get the children down!'

The outburst was regrettable, and from the moment it crossed his lips, Aran wished he could call it back. He watched as his mother's eyes widened and then clenched shut, and a final tear raced down her aging face. Never before had he considered his mother's life as finite, but now he could see the years etched upon her visage, and the pain he felt was not something he ever wanted to experience again. Yet he could see no other option. He had revealed the truth, and now, as a village, they must follow his plan through until the end.

The question he was left asking himself, however, as his mother stumbled through the door and up the stairs, leaving him behind, was how much surviving the winter was worth, when come spring, he had no family left to turn to.

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The first human had fallen easily. He was no murderer, and even with this pack of scavengers and cutthroats, Glorfindel could not bring himself to kill from the shadows. But the idiocy of the patrol guard angered him all the more, and the blow aimed at the back of his head may well have been vicious enough to permanently damage the fragile human mind within it. The golden warrior knew this, and automatically heard Elrond's voice, chiding him for his recklessness, his aggression.

Still, as he plucked the fool from the long grass at the edge of the village, kicking the traces of his collapse away and whispering to the greenery to hide his tracks, he found that he could not bring himself to care. Lashing the human to the trunk of a tree with his own clothing, Glorfindel dropped back to the ground with an ethereal ease, and looking back up at his first adversary, smiled ruthlessly.

_I hope he struggles. No tree in all of Arda would reach out a branch to save that creature from breaking his pitiful neck._

He felt no guilt, only the thrill of finally having reached his destination, and his quarry. Looking out in to the small village, he flattened himself quickly as two small children ran nearby, screaming in excitement and throwing a ragged ball overhead as they went.

A woman's voice followed soon after and both children called back with subdued tones, followed by frantic giggling and the pounding of feet in the opposite direction.

_An everyday scene in a tiny village…May the Valar forgive them for what they have done – and I for what vengeance my sword may yet do…_

Creeping out from the shelter of the trees, gliding along on eerily silent feet, Glorfindel ran for the back of one of the small hut-like houses and then stopped, dead, as two men stomped by. Listening intently, and exercising his knowledge of Westron that had fallen in to disuse over recent centuries, he heard as one of the men made his feelings known.

'It was damned stupid of us to even try takin' on elves anyway, I knew we were gonna be chopped to pieces. S'why I hung back, did you see that dark haired one? I swear he had red eyes, the way he was whirling and spinning he looked like he was shooting fire from 'em.'

'Yeah, but we soon put paid to that elf freak, Kalet. Didn't you see him as we left? In a puddle of blood he was, still reaching out to that burning tree, even when he couldn't stand up no more. If I go to my grave this very day, I can't say I'll ever do anything more amazin' then be a part of the gang that took down those two demons.'

If Glorfindel had not been alone in that village, and if he was not aware of how the elflings he sought were depending on his imminent arrival, he would have revealed himself at that precise moment.

_You will never claim such an honour, human-scum, as you did not kill me! And should our paths cross again, then Erestor's life shall be mine to avenge. His demon eyes will pale in comparison to mine as I tear your fëa from its shell and send it on to the next life. For Erestor, I shall do this!_

Clenching his teeth and fists in desperation, Glorfindel quashed the desire to fulfill his vow there and then, and was rewarded as the first human continued.

'I'm just glad it's Aran that's keeping those elf brats in his house. Wouldn't want them near me, with their whispering spells and such. Never can tell with elves, you know. They're all pretty on the outside, but that's just a ruse to draw you in. Now my father once told me-'

Glorfindel ignored the remainder of the fool's speech as his mind began to work faster and faster. _Aran? They have a man named Aran here? Surely the coincidence would be too much to ignore… But where would that be? Prince Aran mentioned that he left here friends with a man and his betrothed… And her father who was a smith – the creator of the knife the Prince carries. _

His teeth showing white against the darkness of the shadows, Glorfindel fingered his sword as the thoughts flew through his head.

Gliding from one slice of shade to the next, the age-old warrior saw at last what he had been seeking – a wooden wheel attached to a large house near in the centre of the village. Clearly disused, Glorfindel nevertheless had to smile at the predictability of humans. _Even when their smith died and no one took his place, the wheel remains. Mortals have a strange way of making monuments from the most mundane things, and this day, that will be the downfall of this particular band._

Inching closer to the rear of the house, Glorfindel glanced up to ensure his unnoticed passage. Freezing just beyond the house, he felt the anger rush to the surface once more as he caught sight of the blond leader of the band, the one who had delivered blow after blow to Erestor, the one who had set fire to the tree which had sheltered the elflings. If he had any doubts before, they disappeared now, and his fingers once more darted for the hilt of his sword, singing with release as they took a firm grip, and began the inexorable slide from the sheath…

Only to pause once more as the golden head cocked to one side, pointed ears listening for the whisper of air that he thought he had heard. All thoughts of vengeance were pushed aside as he followed the snuffling noises back to their source, and the garbled Sindarin which bubbled from a small window at his feet made his insides twist in unparalleled relief. Dropping to his knees, the elf reached a questing hand through the metal bars which blocked his entry, and let out a desperate question.

'Elrohir, is that you?'

He felt rather than saw the scramble to escape the unknown limb, and let out a tiny huff as a smile played around his mouth.

'It is I, Glorfindel, little one. Come towards the window, as I would see your face, my Lord.'

The voices from inside did not return, but Glorfindel could see, dimly, a silhouette edge closer to his outstretched palm.

'It is your Glorfy, Elrohir, and I simply wish to see that you are safe, child. Please, come closer to the window.'

With the mention of the name bestowed on him by the twins, the dark form immediately straightened, and with a rush of displaced air and tears, Glorfindel found his fingers trapped within the elfling's small hands, pulling, pulling him to come in to the dark room with them, to take them out in to the light.

'Glorfy, Glorfy, they took us and locked us up an' it's just like our dream, just like it, and Dan won't wake up and his head hurts in mine Glorfy, and they shouted at us and talk in their ugly man language and I don't care if 'Restor thinks we need to learn it I'm never speaking human talk again!'

Pressing his free hand to his face to swipe at damp eyes and cram the keening he felt rising in his throat back down, Glorfindel pressed himself closer to the bars, testing their strength and thickness. _Don't think about Erestor, Glorfindel, don't think about him lying in that clearing reaching for these babies even as he closed his eyes. Don't see the darkness in that room, only hear the light and life in that tiny voice, that light that must be protected, must be saved. Concentrate, Glorfindel, concentrate on the elflings now. Nothing else matters._

Stretching his fingers to stroke the cheek that was now pressed in to his palm, Glorfindel shushed the near hysterical diatribe and tried to calm the child beneath his hand.

'Hush, Elrohir, hush little one. I know, I know all they did and they will be punished, I swear it, but first we have to get you free. Are your brother and the Prince there, Ro? Can you just feel Elladan or is he there with you?'

The elf had known Elladan was injured, of course, but had had no way of checking how seriously before the children had been taken. Now, however, with one of the twins within reaching distance, and the base of the kidnappers revealed, the fear of Ro's words rose up once more. _Dan won't wake up. Dan won't wake up. Valar, what does that mean, that the child would still be unresponsive almost a day later? I am no Elrond, but even I know that this does not bode well…_

His thoughts were interrupted, however, by the cold fingers of another brushing against his arm.

'I am here, Glorfy, all of us are. But Dan is still asleep, even though Ro says he's got a headache. And he's all warm too.'

Sighing at the welcome sound of Thranduil's youngest, Glorfindel rushed to comfort his charges.

'That is a fine report, Legolas, and I will be certain to tell your father of the way you have conducted yourself. Both of you are very brave. But now I need you both to tell me what is wrong with your brother, Elrohir, as I must know if I am to help him. Can you describe his injuries to me?'

Glancing round to check that the alleyway was still clear, Glorfindel pushed his face further towards the window, succeeding in forcing most of his head through the middle bars. Angling his gaze downwards, he could just make out the small cot that held the still form of the elder of the Peredhil twins, and the frightened eyes of the other elflings.

'He hit his head, Glorfy, and it hurts really bad. That man tried to fix him, and he slept all the way here except for one part, but then he just cried and went back to sleep. Is he broken, Glorfy? Can you fix him?'

The plaintive request made the warrior catch his breath, and he tugged his head back to stop the elflings from seeing his reaction.

'I'll try my best Elrohir. Now, I need you both to help me pull Dan out, can you do that? I think this space is big enough for you to climb up if you grab my hand, but Dan will need your help to get up. Now, is he wrapped up in a blanket, Legolas?'

The dark shape nodded eagerly and took a purposeful step forward as he leapt in to his new role. Pleased to have something to do at last, the little Prince was desperate to help.

'Yes, Glorfy. That man wrapped him up all tight, it's one of his cloaks, though, not a blanket. Is that alright?'

Praying that the human's clothes were not as shoddy as their guards, Glorfindel nodded firmly and stretched out his hand once more. Now, sensing the urgency in his friend's voice, Elrohir stepped back reluctantly and tugged the cloak tighter around his brother. At the small whimper and slice of pain through his own head, Elrohir winced, and patted his twin's chest, whispering, 'It'll be alright now Dan. Glorfy's here, he'll save us.'

Together, pulling with white knuckled hands and straining backs, the two elflings shifted Elladan closer to the window, and with Legolas propping his friend up, and Elrohir guiding the folds of the cloak towards Glorfindel's fingers, all froze when noises began to resound around the small structure. The golden warrior raised his head and heard the gruff bellow of the blond haired human – the leader – shout out; 'Someone is here! Sateth is missing, probably taken, each man among you get to their position! And keep your eyes open, they may already be among us!'

Cursing under his breath, Glorfindel locked his fingers and hauled his arm back up towards the bars, stopping just in time to use his free hand to maneuver the elfling wrapped so still through the centre two. He heard the whimper of pain as the dark head flopped about, and the echoing cry from beneath, but had no time to stop. Laying Elladan down, he thrust his hand back through the window and groped for the remaining elflings.

'Come, little ones, we must go!'

But the luck of the Valar could not last forever, and Glorfindel knew that he had used his fair share that day. Surviving from the outset was wonder enough, but tracking and reclaiming one elfling would appear to be his limit, for now. As Legolas made to reach out, the door at the far end of the cellar crashed open, and a slashing blade sliced through the air. Pushing the tiny form backwards on the bed, Glorfindel felt the sting of the metal as it nicked his forearm, and could see the terror written on the Prince's face.

'No! No, Glorfy, you made Glorfy bleed!'

Words of disbelief turned to a growing anger, and Glorfindel looked on in horror as the two tiny elflings prepared to launch themselves at the armed human.

'Stop, stop little ones! You must stay calm, stay safe! I will return for you both, I swear, just keep each other close and well. I will return, my Lords, I will return!'

The pleas from their friend caught the small ears before they could reach their target, and ducking away from the horrendous bellow that the human loosed, yelling back up the stairs at his comrades, ran back to the window. Both reaching up with questing fingers, they linked their hands with Glorfindel's much larger one, and he gripped both elflings with a desperate strength.

'Do not fight, little warriors. I will come back for you, when I have Elladan safe. I will go as fast as I can, little ones, and may the Valar grant me the swiftness of the Mearas and the ferocity of the Eagles, that I can fly back to your side.'

Hearing a hitch of breath from below, he glanced up and saw the man staring at him with wide eyes, obviously hearing the words but having no idea of what was being said. Twisting his mouth in to a snarl, Glorfindel narrowed his eyes at the human, and changed his speech to Westron, in order to deliver a message that this human would not soon forget.

'Listen well, human scum. Although you thought me dead, I rose once more to stalk your footsteps, to haunt your poisonous trail. While you would steal children and slay the innocent, I walk with a far nobler purpose. For all the wrongs your village has wrought upon me and mine, I will be avenged. For each blow and slice of your swords, for each drop of blood my friend spilled, for each tear these little ones have shed, I will cut you and yours down. There will be no quarter given. And when the parents of these babes arrive, that shall be your final day on Arda. This I promise you, this, I vow.'

And as voices were heard at the alley's end, the elf squeezed the tiny hands below him one last time, and whispered in Sindarin;

'I will return, little ones. Be brave, and stay safe. I will return.'

Then, releasing the small hands, he reached down to lift his silent charge up to his shoulder, and placing a kiss on the side of the overly warm head, took one moment to thank Eru for the return of even one of the elflings.

Raising his face to the sky, the golden warrior let one tear slip down his pale cheek, slicing through the dirt and toil of the day. As four humans rounded the far corner of the house, the sight which met them would be forever burned in to their memories.

Outlined in gold, standing straight and tall, Glorfindel turned his gaze to land directly on the men who skidded to an abrupt halt before him. The blue of his eyes seemed fathomless to the mortals who looked upon them, and the poise and ageless elegance of such a creature was beyond anything they had ever seen. Fighting in a forest clearing, they had witnessed Glorfindel the protector, the warrior, and he was terrifying. But here, in the cold light of the morning, holding the tiny elfling pressed against him with one arm and the other drawing a glistening sword from its sheath, the humans could feel the torment within this elf, the horrors he had known, and the desperate need to save these children writ large across his dirtied face.

The single stripe of white which followed the teardrop's trail was luminous in the daylight, and each man there felt the guilt of having covered that beauty with dirt and despair. The voice which fluttered around them was nonetheless fearsome for its melody, however, and the knees of each man turned to liquid before it.

'You will let me pass.'

One fell back immediately, turning and running, shouting for Aran, for help, for a way out of this dilemma. And the other three, whilst obviously made of sterner fibre, could not stand their ground either. Taking a step back, each man pressed his back to the walls on either side of the alley, and just stared at the elf and child. As he walked between them, never once glancing back to check their obedience, each man held his breath, unwilling to be the one to gain the attention of those eyes, and the wrath of that sword. And once the elf had passed by, and disappearing back in to the trees, each man sunk to the ground, letting blades slip to the dirt, and hung their heads.

There were no words to be said, no blame to be placed. Each man had felt the aura of the being they had just confronted, and each felt blessed to have escaped without harm. But the resounding thought as they sat and breathed their relief in to the cold morning air was the same for each man; _that was just one elf. Just one. And we have angered an entire realm._

_May the Gods preserve us…_

_May the Gods…_

_What have we done?_

_The Gods cannot help us now._

_We are doomed…_


	15. Torn Between Two Paths

**Title:**** 'Bridges'**

**Author:**** freeflow**

**Rating:**** T**

**Disclaimer****, A/N, Summary:**** See Chapter 1**

Okay, only just found out that my account wasn't allowing anonymous reviews, but I _think_ that I've fixed that now. Just, you know, so you know. Heh! Thanks Artemis!

Chapter 15

It was not orcs, and the spiders had been quiet for some nights now, but Erutur of the Greenwood realm could not shake the feeling of anxiety that had crept over him as the sun had risen.

He had heard, as well as any wood elf on Arda would have, the shrieks of the trees earlier in the day, and had shuddered at the terror in the airy voices. But the sense had not been clear, and it had ended before he could react. Any questions now were only pulsed back at them with echoes of grief, and the Crown Prince did not care to feel such overpowering sadness flowing through him again.

Still, something must have happened, and as his father had left him in command…

He stretched out a pale hand and began to sing in a low voice, murmuring and cajoling the bark beneath his fingertips.

He could sense his warriors behind him, the captain of his personal guard looking on with an uneasy expression and his horse shifting beneath his tense body. But after five days on patrol in the far south west of the kingdom, not including the days spent just travelling through the increasingly dark woodland, he supposed he could excuse his friends their fretfulness. None had taken well to the dreadful keening, and he knew that he had frightened each one of them by dropping the way he had.

Yet they each knew of the increased sensitivities of the house of Oropher, the ease with which Thranduil and his children could converse with their most steadfast of neighbours. Indeed, it was little surprise when the smallest prince had been named for the evergreen forest, so adept was Legolas at chatting with the trees. And when the entire Greenwood had cried out, it was as if… as if…

Furrowing his pale brow and cocking his head to one side, Erutur shook that thought from his mind.

_No, it cannot be… He is days from here, safe in Imladris with a contingent of warriors…_

As his skin made contact, however, the blue eyes filled with tears.

'It cannot be.'

His patrol-mates fell silent and grew still, only his captain daring to edge forward.

'My Prince?'

The slim, dark form did not move, his mouth working silently as he became further lost in the images thrown in to his mind.

Fire and blood and golden hair falling falling crying out they call but no one answers the tiny ones they scream and cry but none the golden one rises he is the dawn the dark one falls he weeps in red they run and trample and flames flames lick and tear and ash ash all is ash and death and despair rains from the silvery swirls as he dances and kills and stalks and

'Prince Aran!'

Tearing the hand from the tree, Erutur spun round in his seat, urging his horse away from the weeping bark and meeting his captain's eyes. None questioned him as he heeled his mount and whispered through streaming tears.

'We must ride.'

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Their group had grown considerably since leaving the haven of Imladris, yet it seemed that the more elves that joined the contingent, the less overall noise they created. Warriors from three realms merged into a sleek hunting force, trees pulling back limbs and horses dancing over dew softened grass, easing their progress, gentling the path.

The tears that had run freely at their first meeting had dried soon after, and now each member of the ruling houses sat steadfast and solid, eyes fixed forward and backs rigid with anticipation. This was no mere tracking mission or orc patrol; this group held the fate of the line of kings in their hands, and the desire to see the light of each elven land returned transformed each age-old warrior into a flaming avenger.

Silver and gold hair glittered side-by-side with raven black, green cloaks joining with grey to create a terrifyingly natural march – as though Arda itself had formed a war party. Earthy yet ethereal, elegance alongside unstoppable urgency, the forest shuddered as waves of intent flowed from their elven friends, and set leaves and flowers to quivering.

They had not needed to follow the tracks, and although the humans had split into groups, obviously trying to confuse and slow their pursuers, the forest had other ideas. Whispering directions and pointing with straining boughs, the elves swept past waving willows and stoic oak, silently supporting their first friends, those who had done naught but love and teach them since time began.

At the head of the party, flanked on either side by Nerometh and Haldir, rode Celeborn, Thranduil and Celebrian. Now armed with Lorien knives and short swords, the Lady of Imladris had transformed from a wife and mother into a warrior in her own right. Having torn off the lower part of her robes, leaving them strewn where they had fallen, she had tied back her flowing hair with an almost vicious abandon, leaving her flawless face revealed, piercing eyes open and devastating in their honesty and desperation.

As she had shed the clothes of a diplomat and hostess, so too had she lost any semblance of humour or mercy, and the promises written in her eyes seemed to leap from her very soul. She would reclaim her children, she would slay those responsible, she would take her family and ride back to her haven in the forest, where no human would ever be permitted to pass again. Imladris may have been Elrond's creation, and the Last Homely House had long been a refuge for all those in need, but her splintering heart could not risk this happening for a second time. These humans had shattered the peace and harmony that she had thought to gift to her sons, and should any other dare to attempt the same feat, she would end them.

Seated beside his daughter, Celeborn could feel the fury radiating from his only child's lithe form. He was no innocent; he had seen the torment of warfare and the slaughter of elven kind with his own eyes. He had fought against the forces of the shadow and pushed back the approaching night for countless centuries. And when it came to his blood kin, he knew well the fire which lurked within his own veins, and where his daughter's rage and righteous anger came from. He recognized those eyes, not from her childhood, but from the mirror he had looked in to on the eve of battle, in the face of his wife when her home was threatened, in the gaze of his son-in-law as he watched his mentor being cut down at Dagorlad.

He would not chastise a fury so tender, so precious and so cutting that the world could end before those eyes truly saw it. And although he would give anything to protect his child from this horror, he also knew that the time had long since passed where he could coddle his silver princess, kissing and comforting her worries away.

His only choice now was to decide when to curtail her wrath; as he had looked in to the face of his Galadriel as her anger overtook all sense, as he would no doubt see again, he would once more be the one to rein in such fury, to ensure that his daughter did herself no harm in the process of reuniting her family. He knew that her gentle spirit would soon feel remorse for any hurt she herself had caused, even with righteous vengeance fuelling her sword. No, he could still protect her from those future hurts, if he was astute enough. He may not be endowed with a ring of power, but he could foresee enough to know that there lay only sadness ahead should Celebrian be permitted to act without counsel.

He may not be able to caress her cares away any longer, but he could still defend her soul, when she could no longer do so herself.

He glanced back at his daughter's husband, and was unsurprised to see the half-elf riding with his eyes closed, listening to something or someone beyond his own hearing. Elrond had fallen back from the lead group as they neared their target, and had reached out to the forest, and to his sons through both his indelible link, and Vilya, straining to feel their thoughts, their hurts and their fears. It had not been so long ago that Thranduil had rounded on the dark haired Lord, demanding he use his power to find Legolas, to seek out his child and tell all he could of his youngest.

'_Tell me, Elrond! Use your magic, your, your Power, use whatever you have at your disposal and tell me if my son lives!'_

_Elrond paid no heed to the fear in that voice, to the disguised plea or the cracking timbre. His head throbbed, his eyes were dry and flaming and he whirled to face his attacker with the ferocity of a charging stallion._

'_I will not! Do you believe me to be the master of time, a conjuror of visions? I may have feelings or notions of things yet to be, but I will not look to a future where my sons… where my sons may… be, be dead. I will not, I cannot-'_

_The tirade faltered and a rough hand grasped at the front of Thranduil's tunic. The two fathers stared at each other with abject pain strewn across their features, both heaving in sobs of air as they tried to collect thoughts and emotion alike._

_A whisper drifted to the King's ear moments later, but the moisture in his eyes prevented him from watching Elrond's lips shape the words._

'_If I see that future, if I feel it for even an instant, I am finished, Thranduil. My hope would be quashed and I would fade into the ether, with no light left to sustain me. No, my friend. This way, I will fight and follow and continue until we have reached the end of this horror, and only then will I accept anything. But we will see our sons, Thranduil. We will have them back with us again and I need no vision to tell me that. There can be no alternative. I will not allow it.' _

No, Celeborn was not surprised to see his son-in-law pulling further away from his family, thrusting his feä out through powers and mystical means beyond his understanding. As much as he had denied Thranduil's demands, the Lord of Imladris was torn, he had the ability to search for his sons, sending his senses out on the air like a spider web, yet he was terrified by what he might find. And whilst he felt tentatively for the light of the twin stars of Imladris, the tension which enveloped his taut figure was only a fraction of the pain he was prepared for. As if he could find no such light, then the desolation that would tear through the elves gathered and, indeed, the elves scattered across all of Arda, would cause the very earth itself to buck with grief.

By pulling away, Elrond was trying to spare his friends and family that pain, if even for only a moment. Yet the Lord of Lorien was not fooled and it was not only for his daughter that he ached.

So it was that silver hair soon rode parallel to raven black, and if any elf present witnessed the light hand resting on a weary shoulder, none would speak of it.

And their band marched on.

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The tiny face twisted and quivered with returning pain, and Glorfindel laid the damp cloth aside just in time to see shining grey appear from beneath slitted lids.

Stroking black hair away from the dampened forehead, the golden warrior was almost ready to sing out to the skies as the glassy eyes tracked his movements, and he watched as the elfling caught the colour of his hair, the familiar face, and then, suddenly, what it all meant.

And he leaned down to scoop the child up as the tears began to flow.

'Glorfy…'

'Shh, I know, little one. I know. Your head is still sore, Elladan, and you want your Amme and Ada, but I promise that they are on their way, child. They will be here soon, and will make you all better.'

The small hands scrabbled at his chest, and Glorfindel settled himself back against a grief-filled oak, desperate to comfort the weeping elfling beneath its boughs. The elf let the tree's care seep through him and in to the form cradled in his arms, hoping to help both be comforted in some measure. But the elfling only grew more agitated, hands moving desperately, searching, and sobbing, meeting the tree's cries breath for breath.

'What is it, Elladan? What is it that you need, little one? Tell me, and I shall do all I can to-'

His words cut short as the tiny fingers grasped the end of one of his by now bedraggled braids, and the elfling tugged as hard as he could. Gasping in surprise, Glorfindel could only gape as the elfling at once stopped crying, and pleased with his discovery and apparent test of the claimed braid, wrapped it around his clenched fist. Sinking further into the strong embrace, Elladan snuffled once more, and rubbing his thumb along the captured hair, whispered words that both lit up his protector's heart, and sliced his being in two.

'Knew you'd come, Glorfy. S'your hair, s'got to be Glorfy. Can't take us, 'Restor'll keep them away. Glorfy and 'Restor.'

Pressing his mouth to the too warm head, Glorfindel closed his eyes, partly in self-reproach, and partly in suppressed pain.

'Yes, it's your Glorfy, little one. And 'Restor fought with all he had, Elladan, everything he had. Now, let's try and get you well, shall we, before your Ada arrives and chastises me for letting you get into this state. Come, child, let go and we shall see what we can do.'

Constantly aware of their proximity to the human village, Glorfindel felt the wind shift and tucked the elfling closer, twisting his head around to stare in the direction they had come from. The path he had taken had already closed behind them - the leaves and grass settling to camouflage any hint of their passage, and the forest would warn him of any unwelcome company - yet the warrior was not taking any unnecessary chances. They had been taken unawares in the depths of Imladris; here his senses were humming with alertness and a self-conscious determination. He would not be caught out again; he would not allow anyone within sighting distance of the miracle in his arms.

A shaky sigh pulled his gaze back down to Elladan and he found his fingers questing through the dark hair, grimacing as they caught on dried blood along his brow. Obviously someone had tried to clean the child's face, and he could smell the remnants of some form of poultice or ointment, yet he could feel the warmth radiating from the limp form, and he had heard the slurred words the dazed elfling had uttered. Glorfindel had seen Elrohir wince as he had lifted his twin, and knew that the injury to his brother was hurting the youngest Peredhil to some extent, and being as disoriented as he still was, Glorfindel could only imagine what the past journey had been like for all of the children.

Placing a soft palm along one side of the pale face, the warrior let his eyes flutter closed, reaching out with his mind and feä to surround that of the elfling, questing and searching for the bright energy that marked this child as the individual soul his family knew him to be.

From the moment they had been welcomed into the world, the twins of Imladris had been near inseparable. They slept, ate and played together, and since their newest discovery, even dreamed and ached as one. Yet they could not be mistaken for the other, not by those who knew them. Alike in form and voice they may be, but whilst Elrohir had a deep, abiding light which shimmered and shifted with his mood, Elladan had, from the very first, blazed into existence. His parents had laughed over their identical yet opposite boys, as Galadriel had blessed each, and stated with amused solemnity that whilst Elrohir had his father's mercurial aura, Elladan's was the flaming replica of his mother's. Holding her eldest grandchild aloft, the Lady of Lorien had gazed in to his clear eyes and smiled with fond remembrance of her own daughter, lips crinkling with mirth as Elladan had landed a soft hand on her perfect cheek and flexed tiny fingers, grasping at the power he could feel but not yet understand.

Celeborn had laughed aloud and bent to collect Elladan from his wife, as she returned to her daughter's side. 'Ah, he has his mother's impetuous nature, too, I see. You will certainly be kept occupied, Elrond, as you have given life to not only two beautiful boys, but whilst one is sleeping as contented as a cat against his father's chest, his brother stares at the world, open eyed. As alike as any beings could be, yet where one ends, his other half begins. No, you will certainly be kept occupied, my son.'

Glorfindel had met the elflings in the same instant that they had joined their small family, and although he had not for some time had any interaction with elves so small as these, he had nevertheless been entrusted with their care from their first breath. Wide eyed and anxious, he had been made to offer his arms as Galadriel had placed first one then the other of the twins into his hold, and sagging into the cushions beneath him, had gazed with abandon upon each tiny face. He had thought himself ready, had prepared himself for the arrival, and had known from the conception that he would readily give his life for the children of his friend.

Yet, as he had held the twins, as he had reached out with his own feä to brush against their awakening minds, he had found himself memorizing each difference between them, each subtle colour of their aura, each possibility that they held within them. No longer would he protect the lives of his friend's children, now he would give anything for these tiny individuals, for their separate selves and the hope that they embodied.

Lying amidst dead humans in a clearing, covered in the blood of the slaughtered and the ash of a dying tree, Glorfindel had remembered that day and wept anew. As the tears had sluiced through the red adorning his features, he had grieved for Elrond and Celebrian, had wept for Erestor and the pain he had seen written across his friend's features. But most of all he had warred within his own mind for the tiny souls that he had held upon their entry to Arda, to the two disparate creatures whom, together, were a singular force of nature, and yet separately, were as unique and breathtaking as any miracle he may ever have witnessed.

He knew Elladan, had known him as long as the child had been alive; a hand on Celebrian's stomach to welcome the growing life there, a stroke of downy hair as he slept side-by-side with his twin, a tickle of ribs as he was caught still abed in the early hours of the morning. Now, trying to ignore the pulses of pain through the child's consciousness, and pushing deeper to seek out the colours and senses he had long ago come to recognise as more important to him than life, he felt the rushing, grasping burst of light that Galadriel had seen from the beginning. Smiling gently as he surrounded the almost desperate energy, he caressed and cajoled the indescribably tumultuous aura back with him, coaxing the elfling back to consciousness and the world which was irredeemably darker without him in it.

As Glorfindel's eyes flickered open he knew that he had succeeded, yet could not help but feel a stab of guilt bubble up beneath his sense of relief. With waking had come remembrance, and with remembrance, terror. And on top of these things, the golden elf had quite forgotten how the tears of either twin was a pain hundreds of times more cutting than any he had yet experienced.

So, whilst Elladan at least now looked at him with clear and bright eyes, the emotions spilling out in a deluge of fears over baby soft cheeks threatened to turn Glorfindel from a warrior of age-old renown into a weeping child himself. Laying a cool hand over the still warm brow, Glorfindel retrieved the damp cloth that he had discarded and placed it back over the wound. He was no healer, and although he had lived and fought at Elrond's side for centuries, he was no scholar of those arts, rather devoting his time to weaponry and defense. Yet with battlefield experience stretching back over two lifetimes, he had acquired far more knowledge of wounds and injuries than he had ever wanted. He knew that now the elfling had returned to himself that the gash he had suffered was the worst of his pains, and that the temperature, if he had read the elfling correctly when they had connected, was simply the after-effects of a lingering fever rather than a persistent infection.

Given that Elladan was elf-kind, Glorfindel was not overly worried about the heat flowing from the small body. Yet, it always remained in his mind that Elrond's line may have the frailties of their human ancestors lurking within them, waiting to strike at any given opportunity. He knew that it was more likely that the Adan in the Peredhil would serve to make them hardier than most elves – he knew that in Elrond the differences were clear in the width of his shoulders and heavier tread; it had happened on many an occasion that the Lord of Imladris had simply out-powered many of his lighter opponents both on the training ground and the battle field – yet he could not help but worry. Their father may have chosen to live as an elf, but the twins had not yet suffered to make their own choice, and Glorfindel feared that the option may be taken from them prematurely should their human side fail them where a full-blooded elf may have survived.

Still, now was not the time to fret over things he had no power to change. The elfling was crying for his mother, father and twin, for Erestor and Legolas, for Glorfindel himself, and as he was the only one there to comfort him, he would have to make up for all those that could not be.

Pulling the slight body higher, and tilting backwards so that the elfling would not need to hold his own head up, he turned the child to lean forward on to his chest, where Elladan immediately buried his wet face between Glorfindel's shoulder and throat. Burrowing with the ferocity of a frightened rabbit, the dark head only slowed and settled as his breaths grew ragged and resigned. He could go no further, his misery having reached its plateau at last, and he sank into the strong body beneath him with none of the grace of his kind, threaded instead with the utter exhaustion of the lost.

Letting the elfling arrange himself and waiting until he had come to rest, Glorfindel simply sat, arms wrapped tight around the shaking child, stroking the damp, dark hair and resting a strong palm against the back of the aching head. With such direct contact, he could feel the throbs of pain racing from the cut on Elladan's brow, streaking over his face and scalp to pulse down his neck and back. In a fully grown elf it would have been a torment; for one so small to suffer it made Glorfindel seethe with anger.

Once again linking with the child's aura, he began to sing softly, lulling the elfling in to a half-sleep, where only hitches of breath and the semi-open eyes told Glorfindel of his charge's consciousness.

'Shh, little one, I have you, Glorfindel has you now. You are safe, child, and no human can find us here. Your Ada is coming, I have little doubt, and soon you will be back in your Amme's arms. Just close your eyes, Elladan, close your eyes and let yourself heal. When you wake up, we will be that much nearer to seeing your parents once more. Shh, shh, that's right, sleep little one. I will guard your dreams this day.'

As strange as it was to encourage the elfling to close his eyes – a sure sign of poor health or exhaustion for any of the firstborn – it was certainly a relief to see the child's lids flutter shut, and doubly so when the thrills of pain that Glorfindel had been suppressing with his own feä eased away with Elladan's consciousness. Although no longer as worried as he had been about the seriousness of the elfling's injuries, the golden warrior had been dismayed by the amount of pain that the child had been suffering through, and hoped to avoid any further, if he could. Yet, the only way he could think of to aid the child was to take him to his father, and that would mean leaving the village behind in order to do so.

He had not lied; he knew that Elrond and Thranduil and Celebrian were likely making their way here as they sat, yet he found himself torn in two. Take the one elfling he had managed to rescue and keep him safe from further injury and pain, leaving his twin and friend to fear and uncertainty, or return, endangering this child and risking the lives of the two left behind.

Not for the first time that day, the forest felt the anxious indecision of a being renowned for his clearheaded strategizing. Yet whilst Elrond feared discovering an answer, for Glorfindel, it was the impossibility of choosing either way which restricted him.

Still, the decision was not one to be made lightly, so as the elf sat, deliberating and weighing his options, time marched forward, seeping by, until suddenly, his hand was forced.

The crashing of human feet through the foliage behind him was broken only by the frantic whispers of the trees.

As Glorfindel rose to his feet, tucking Elladan's lax form closer to his chest, his mind became clear. The balrog slayer cocked his head to one side and lifted is eyes to the sky, murmuring to the Valar, 'well, I suppose that decides that,' and then lowering his face back down to take in the green dampness of the forest.

And he stepped forward.


	16. The Time is Now

**Title:**** 'Bridges'**

**Author:**** freeflow**

**Rating:**** T**

**Disclaimer****, A/N, Summary:**** See Chapter 1**

Sorry for the long wait, my lovely readers, but now that exams and dissertations are over and done with, perhaps we can move on at a better speed!

Okay, so I was reading my wonderful, truly appreciated and fawned over reviews for the last chapter, and Charmel came up with a plot point that I just had to run with. So this one is for you, Charmel, and I hope it lives up to your fantastic idea!

Chapter 16

Thranduil's ears felt as though they were aflame, his skin burning and, had he the time or the inclination, he would more than likely have fallen, screaming, into the dust.

Never had he heard the trees so clearly, never had they reached out to his feä and dragged abrasive bark over its roiling depths. He knew, oh, how he knew, what they were trying to say and appreciated the empathy, the assistance and the encouragement more than he could verbalise, but he could not find it within himself to speak back.

His sons would have, he knew. Aran or Corin, and especially his little leaf - _oh, if only I could hear your voice, little leaf!_ – they each would have laid an attentive palm on the nearest trunk and savoured the contact. Instead of burning along their senses, they could float in the song the forest wove about them, joining the melody and understanding on a level deeper than other elves could even imagine. Yet, Thranduil could not.

It was not a matter of ability; he had taught each of his children from their birth to touch and talk with the life that grew in and around their woodland home, guiding them with gentle hands and light tunes, coaxing them into an easy relationship with the forest and the fauna which thrived there.

But not this day. King of the Greenwood realm he may well be, but on this dark morning, Thranduil could not allow himself to open to the trees. As much as they battered his defenses, he could not allow the tendrils of consciousness to seep through.

It was not that he was angry with them.

_Nay, never that, never with you, my ancient friends._

He had seen one great tree burn to its very roots trying desperately to shelter his youngest child, he truly could ask no more. Yet, still he kept himself closed and tense and still the trees screamed at him.

_Please, I cannot speak, I cannot…_

Even the thoughts were excruciating, every syllable coursing through his mind like quicksilver, but throbbing like molten lead, leaving streaks of fire in their wake.

_No, I cannot, you…_

Nerometh had taken to staring at him; he could feel the gaze, yet he too was kept at a remove.

_It hurts, it is too much…_

He knew that Elrond was torn in two, searching the air for signs of his twins, yet desperate in his denial of their absence.

_I cannot let it…_

Celebrian revealed nothing in her taut posture; her terrible eyes tearing across the foliage, trembling, furious.

_I will not let you in, you who speaks to me, singing of hope and love and joy, of pain and death, of timeless life…_

Yet the fire fanned within him, and as he smoldered, the last of his restraint burned away.

_Stop this! Please, just… I cannot feel what you would have me feel! You, who are the voice of every tree and leaf, you, who would take my pain away, who would bear this burden. It is mine to hold, mine to feel! I claim it, use it, need it, all of it! If you would just… _

Shaking his proud head, he closed his eyes.

_You must understand… As much as I need my own, I cannot shoulder yours, too. The timbre of a thousand branches, of hundreds of fruits and flowers, each with their own sorrow and hope… You would break me! It is too much, too much! And for every moment I am forced to travel under your song, I lose another moment of thinking of my son, of reminding myself of his clear voice, of his shining eyes, of his bright hair, lighting this world, my world. I thank you and I revere you - Eru only knows I owe my sanity to you, bearing me up in my darkest moments - but this, this is not one of those times. I will have my son back, I will claim what is ours. Our leaf, our joy. This is no time for songs of grief – I have no time for sorrow. For today, we take back what was taken from us. We take back the light of our world._

For those elves who had never beheld the King of Greenwood addressing his subjects, the change in the atmosphere came as a surprise.

Yet for Nerometh, Thranduil's party and the Lords and Lady present, the moment the song of the forest changed, new strength blazed in their hearts.

Each elf sat taller, horses whinnying with unbridled eagerness.

The voice of the trees had shifted, become a marching chant, and the elves now had changed from a retrieval party to a pointed fighting force. If events demanded it, then those present would answer. The fair and the brave were riding to war.

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The blow landed before the human had even realized his peril.

Swift and silent, Glorfindel watched with muted disdain as the mud streaked man dropped to a rumpled pile at his feet, checking only peripherally to see if the body still held breath. The elfling he held had not moved nor even twitched, so delicate had been his movements, yet the warrior had no wish to test his good fortune further.

His decision had been made, and for better or worse, he was bound to follow it through to the end.

Turning his back to the human village, he raised his head to the boughs knitted above him and sent out a silent question, receiving an instantaneous answer.

As the wind blew, Glorfindel brushed fingers over the nearest trunk, letting his thanks flow through him and closing his eyes as the warmth of the forest swirled around him and his small charge.

Following the silent directions ebbing from solid bark, the elf drew his hand back languidly, bringing it instead to rest on the back of the dark head pressed against his shoulder.

'Time to find your Ada, little one. Time to find your Ada.'

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Frisa had not seen such outright chaos since her days as a child, when a wild boar had broken in on a picnic lunch. Whilst the shrieks and running then had combined to produce a sun brightened memory, she could not help but link the two events in her mind. Yet on this day, she could not find any trace of light to guide her.

Men were running right and left, shouting to one and other; to Aran, at their wives and mothers to get inside their suddenly vulnerable houses, to blockade the door, to keep the children out of sight.

Standing silent and still in the centre of their village, Frisa almost wept for the loss of their peace, their safety. And the man who had brought them to this, this state of _terror_, was standing not three footfalls from her, calmly chewing a stalk of grass and eyeing the surrounding trees with suspicion.

Heaving an explosive breath, Frisa strode forward and dragged her son around, one calloused palm digging violently into his upper arm.

'So now what is your plan, oh fearless one? Now that you know the elves are coming, that one of them has been close enough to wipe that placid expression from your very face? It is purely circumstance and nothing more that the golden warrior who eluded your tight security chose to retreat with that elf-child, rather than decimate you and the rest of your motley band of mercenaries.'

The cold eyes burned with a blue heat for an instant, regaining a fraction of the emotion that Frisa had pursued for so long, yet, as ever, the apathy returned once more. She knew that her son had schooled his emotions when her husband had died. For a boy who had worshipped his father and been dedicated to earning his hard-fought praise, he had had little option but to close off his feelings, learning to seek satisfaction in his own actions.

And she could see, too, the logic in his actions, knowing him as well as she did. This plan was merely Aran's last attempt at displaying his ability, creating his enduring legacy in an effort to show once and for all that, had his father still been alive, he too would have hailed his son as the leader their village had long since needed.

Having lost his temper earlier in the day, in the cellar before the elf had taken back one of the elflings, Frisa knew that he would have become doubly determined to maintain his composure now, believing it to be a sign of weakness to show any human feeling, no matter the company.

That he stayed so now, even after her vicious assault on his plans, his actions and his men, only emphasized how anxious he was growing. The more worried he became, the more stoic he grew. And now he simply stared at his mother, flat-eyed, until she withdrew her hand and stepped back.

Only Frisa heard his response, and only she was able to hear the desperation in it; the need for this to be over, the need for this quest for his own self-esteem to be brought to an end, no matter the result.

'Let them come.'

With devastating realisation already cascading through her thoughts, Aran delivered the final blow as he reached out, pressing a soft kiss to his mother's brow. Raising a shaking hand to her mouth, Frisa bit back a tearing sob, and whirling around, away from the madness and frantic scrabbling, she fled back to the house, to sit with her back to the cellar door, guarding the only children she felt able to call truly innocent.

And she cried.

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The thundering of the hooves was punctuated by the echoes of the trees as Prince Aran blazed along seldom used paths. Leading a troop beyond the Greenwood forest was not a common occurrence in the times of growing shadow, and since his Lady mother's death, the entire Kingdom had pulled back to nestle closer to the centre of their realm, Thranduil's own dwelling.

Yet, Aran could not have followed a wrong road even if he had tried to – the trees would simply not have allowed it. Although he felt no more outright fear for his youngest sibling amidst the leafy rumblings, there was a growing sense of urgency present, one that caught his heart up in to a desperate rhythm of fluttering and painful throbs.

Had he the foresight of Elrond or the seeming omnipotent presence of the Lady Galadriel, he knew that he would have been using everything at his disposal just to glimpse a second of what lay ahead of him and his warriors. Yet, all he had was the voice of the forest and although it usually comforted him to hear it, in this instance, the vague whimsy of his evergreen brethren only served to further his anxiety.

Tamping down on his nerves, Aran glanced back at the contingent of elves behind him, trusting in his steed to keep him on course. Stone-faced and determined, each one of his patrol knew that some internal fire drove their Captain, their Prince. Yet, as certain as each would follow him to the fires of Mount Doom, he knew that they each held questions of their own, questions which would need to be answered before much more time passed. He had led elves for many seasons now and as much as he knew it to be the duty and privilege of his birthright, he still believed that each elf was his equal, a child of Iluvatar, and he was well-known for his familiar relationship with his warriors. Once he had any answers, they would be the first to hear them. Until then, however, they would continue to follow him, trust and loyalty firing their racing steeds.

Easing back as he suddenly recognised just how fast he had been pushing their pace, the forest groaned with warning and fluttering epithets aimed at hurrying the contingent onwards crept into Aran's consciousness. Shaking his head in an unthinking response, his second in command took the change in speed as an opportunity to edge forward.

'My Prince? Are you well?'

Smiling ruefully at his friend and confidant, Aran tossed back his black hair and slowed his horse once more. Dipping his head, he glanced up to meet worried eyes, and sighed as he drew his company to a stop. Turning back to address his warriors, he could not help but feel the surge of pride as he took in their questioning but steadfast faces, their wind-whipped yet ever-ready postures and raiment, weapons hanging prepared and glinting in the dappled light.

'My friends, I realise that this is far from our usual path, and that I have led you thus far with no word or reason to follow. Yet, this stirring which we all feel, I believe, is a call to arms. Carried by the trees themselves, I am afraid that I allowed my fear to overrule my sense-'

The immediate agitation and murmuring of disagreement warmed Aran's heart, yet he would not be swayed. Waving one hand to motion for silence, he swept his gaze across the elves there gathered and smiled once more.

'Nay, my friends, I have acted in haste and I would be called to account for it, at some point. As it stands, I have left our section of the Greenwood patrol out of contact until our return, and I fear for our realm in our absence. The dark is quick to take advantage of such opportunities, and I shudder to think what my decision may mean for our people. Still - and I say this as your companion rather than your Prince - I have need of you, my friends. I have felt a shift in the forest, a shudder in my family's essence, and I would implore you to ride with me, as far as you would, to find my father and brother.'

The Crown Prince shook his head as his pale face tautened with the possible implications of his actions.

'I know that I am asking you to choose between your realm and my family, but I ask nevertheless. May Eru himself forgive me for putting this choice to you all.'

Never had the forest seemed so deafeningly quiet. As much as Aran wanted to drop his head and await the decision with eyes tightly shut, he found that he could not dishonor his companions so.

_Nay, you asked the question Aran. Now you must face the results and respect the decision of those you are proud to call friend…_

The roar, when it came, had a single tear running down the tortured face.

'To the King!'

'To Thranduil Oropherion! To the Lord of the Greenwood!'

'To Prince Legolas! To the Greenleaf!'

And beneath the cries of loyalty and determination, one soft voice, accompanied by a light hand and a gentle touch, floated around Aran.

'For our Crown Prince. For our Captain. For our friend.'

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The noises outside had grown frantic and burst continually through the barred window, but for the two elflings huddled in the darkened, basement room, it was simply a louder example of the bewildering behavior of this band of humans.

Neither had spoken since Glorfindel had left; Elrohir sitting with one hand flattened to the indentation where his brother had lain motionless and silent for so long, Legolas crouched at his side, straining to hear where the elf lord had gone and waiting, hoping, for the soothing timbre of Sindarin words to float down to them once more.

Yet, in the way of the elves, both were calmed and comforted by the renewed song that Glorfindel had sparked in each of them; his words and voice, so longed for, had finally come to be and both children could feel anew the voice of the trees and wood around them. The door and ceiling groaned in awakening and the elflings' tapered ears, so attuned to the sounds of the forest, could sense the vague stirrings of life creeping back up from their deepest memories.

Glorfindel had not only brought hope to Elrohir and Legolas, but fired the feä of the once living materials flattened and bent to human will. Neither child could tell if their friend had done this consciously, leaving some comfort in the structure itself, or if the emotions they had seen in their protector's eyes had simply overflowed into the house, but they were glad of it, nevertheless.

It was not long, however, before the calm and contentment of the elves gave way to the fidgeting and impatience of elflings.

'When do you think Ada will get here?'

Elrohir shook his head and scrubbed at the sheet beside him before pushing up and bounding down to the floor. Scampering over to the door, he glanced back at his friend and shrugged.

'I don't know. But if Glorfy's here, he'll bring Ada. And he can help Dan, and they'll all come and get these men and make them say sorry for everything and we can go home.'

At this, Legolas let out a startled laugh.

'Make them say sorry?' He dropped off the bed and wandered to Ro's side. 'My Ada can get really angry about things that aren't really so bad, you know. There was this one time, when I was little, that an elf in the kitchens left a pie in the oven for so long that it made everyone run out, coughing and choking. Corin was caught in one of the far cellars and Aran had to bring him out, and he was all wheezy for a day afterwards. Fft, Ada was so angry that the elf spent a week in the dungeons, even after Corin begged for his release.'

Elrohir's eyes had gone wide with surprise.

'You have dungeons?'

Legolas nodded his head with a regal authority, and then laughed at Ro's expression.

'Yep, but we hardly ever use them. Most of the cells have barrels of apples and salted meat inside. And Ada's extra wine cellar, that he thinks I don't know about.'

Elrohir placed his hand against the door, and pulling on the handle, looked back at Legolas over his shoulder. 'Is your Ada not allowed a wine cellar?'

'M-hhm, but he always keeps some extra so that Amme-'

The bright little voice stumbled to a halt and Ro turned to face his friend fully, wondering at the pale cheeks and tight lips he found there.

'Legolas?'

The blond hair flew left and right as the elfling shook his head in determination.

'He, he kept them a secret so that Am- Amme, she wouldn't know about them. It didn't matter, really, because she would not have said anything, Aran says that it's an Ada and Amme thing, that they have to have a secret or two, just for fun.'

'Oh, yes! Like my Ada has a bottle of brandy hidden behind the vase in the library, but Amme knows all about it, as she dusts there sometimes. But when I asked her, she just winked at me and said that she hadn't seen anything. They're strange, sometimes.'

Tugging once more in a knowingly futile gesture, Elrohir leaned back against the rumbling wood and dropped his head a little, looking up at Legolas through dark hair.

'So, your Ada, he won't just make them apologise?'

Legolas smiled a crooked smile, and shook his head.

'No, I don't think so. My Ada will be mad enough that these humans have spoilt our day out, but then they made the trees scream. He will be very, very unhappy. And he doesn't have any dungeons to put people in, here. I don't know what he will do. But I do know that he is coming.'

'How?'

Legolas wandered over and crouched beside Elrohir, picking at his boots and flaking off dried mud in an attempt to avoid his friend's questing gaze. He knew that the twins had been delighted with his, as it seemed to them, strangely close affinity with the forest, but truly he had found it equally odd that they would be unable to hear the tree song as clearly as he. The delight in his friend's voice betrayed his hope that this was more of Legolas' foreign powers at work. Yet, in this instance, it was no 'tree magic' as the Peredhil children had named it. He simply knew his Ada better than anyone.

'Because…' His face turned pink and blond hair that slid forward to cover his cheeks was gratefully used as a temporary hiding place. 'Because my Ada said that if I was ever to go away, to travel West like Amme did, that he would follow me and bring me back. And when I said that I wanted to be with Amme, where the light is gold and silver and the trees are the most green, he said that until he is there himself, he'd never let me go.'

Elrohir smiled a little, but suddenly gasped and grabbed his friend's arm, anxiously.

'But Legolas, you have gone somewhere without him! And if he gets mad for little things like leaving a pie in the oven, he'll be furious about this! He might lock you in the dungeons, to stop you from leaving ever again!'

Now Legolas laughed outright, as he realised that he had not for days. 'No, he won't, Ro. Because if my Ada locks me in the dungeon, then he'd have to come and live with me there, too. He'd miss me too much!'

Suddenly the laughter fell flat and each elfling leaned back, despondent once more, against the door.

'I miss Ada and Amme.'

Legolas nodded once at the simple statement and scrubbed at his eyes, fiercely biting back any tear that dared to form.

'Yeah, but Glorfy came. And if Glorfy is here, then it won't be much longer.'

Both elflings had dropped their voices to whispers. Neither knew why, as their words remained as indecipherable to the humans as they had ever been, yet there was a feeling that these were thoughts that should not be shared with any other.

'Do you think that Elladan is alright?'

'His head doesn't hurt as much anymore. I can't feel him as much though, maybe it's because he's going to find Ada.'

'Did he tell you that?'

'No, it doesn't work in that way, not with words. But Glorfy has made him better, even if it's just a little bit, so he feels less,' the whispering stopped as the youngest twin searched for a suitably descriptive term, 'less… _jagged_, I suppose.'

'He was like that before? Like, he was broken?'

The horrified tone washed over Elrohir as one who has long since come to terms with an unnatural state of affairs.

'Mm-hmm. It's like you with the trees. They say things, but you can't say how they do. Well, with me and Dan, it's as if he's there, all of the time, but a smooth, round thing, filling up a piece of me that I don't notice, until he needs me or there is something wrong. Then the shape changes, sometimes just slightly, or maybe shakes, then I know that he isn't feeling very well, or is unhappy. But since-'

A sigh seeped from both children as the unspoken 'attack' hovered between them.

'-since all of this started, it's as though Dan's been broken. Like that smooth, unnoticeable thing was shattered into lots of pieces, lots of bits that were just rolling around, trying to find the way he should be, the way I need him to be.'

'And can your Ada make him like that again?'

'My Ada can do anything!'

There was no hesitation in the statement.

Like a call to arms, the staunch declaration had both elflings rising to their feet and standing face to face. Eyes meeting, for the first time since leaving Imladris both children of Elven royal lines recognized the pride and strength in the other. Having seen their fathers' perform the same ritual hundreds of times, each elfling placed a fist over their heart and swept an open palm out in a solemn exchange of a silent oath. Each would make their house proud, each would stand up for their realm, and each small elfling would strive to keep the other safe, to fight, so long as they could make a difference.

Yet, in a change to the usual salute, whether by design or accident, both Elrohir and Legolas then turned the reaching hand flat, placing it on the other's chest. Feeling the calm beat there, the steady cadence created and traceable through generations of proud elves before them, they nodded once more, accepting the situation for what it was.

Whatever was about to happen, would, and by Eru himself, they were going to face it together.

As the two tiny warriors turned in surprise at the sound of crying just beyond the door of their prison, they were engulfed in a silence which tore at their sensitive ears, leaving them shaking their heads in sudden shock at the absolute deafening hush.

Then, a shrill cry broke through the bars of the window, explaining all.

'They are here! They are here! The time is now!'

And as those words flew through the desperate minds of the elflings waiting anxiously below, the next had them reaching out once more. Faces turned to the grey light slicing into the cellar, they locked their fingers together as their hearts began to pound.

'The elves are here!'


	17. To Understand the Enemy

**Title:**** 'Bridges'**

**Author:**** freeflow**

**Rating:**** T**

**Disclaimer****, A/N, Summary:**** See Chapter 1**

Back by popular demand, (and because La-p'tite-tete asked so nicely!) we have the return of one of my favourite OCs. And Ila; here it is, as ordered, although a teensy bit late… Hope it lives up to expectations! (I'd hate to suffer through another _*poke*_, after all!)

Chapter 17

They had risen from the tree line without so much as a whisper, and had he retained the wherewithal to appreciate it, Aran would have applauded their stealth. Elven tactics, such as he could make out, would have made a fascinating study for one such as he, who prided himself on forward thinking and the simple strike. Yet, for all the declarations he had made about the necessity and practicality of this event, the overwhelming need to eek all that he could from this opportunity, this was one moment in his relatively uneventful life that he could have avoided with no great regret.

He had known that it was coming, had planned for it, to some extent. Still, when the entirety of his people had fallen deathly silent in the space of one indrawn breath, he could not help but question his actions. Yes, they had needed the leverage. With winter fast approaching and the forest giving up no fruits other than lichen and half rotten mushrooms, he had been left with little choice.

Still, the fact remained; in the cold grey light of the morn, surrounded by creatures he had, until very recently, considered to be the fantastical tales of long-dead minstrels, he was being studied on all sides by those who were waiting for him to act. And he could not even draw in a sufficient breath to calm his racing heart.

Then, as if he had no other cares in the world, the voice which had questioned him since the beginning of this misadventure cut through the misty air once more.

'So, Aran. Is this playing out as well as you had hoped?'

If nothing else, it fired a bolt of warmth through the man, as his temper rose exponentially.

Hissing his displeasure at finding the outsider still lurking around his home, Aran's head snapped round, fixing his glare on the only man who would dare to challenge him.

'Ah, Radall, I should have known that you would be hanging around somewhere, lingering as only the truly unwanted can. Have you stayed to mock us once more? To show your absolute disdain? Or have you finally lost your senses and simply want to throw in your lot with the only group of humans ever to give you a place to call your own?' His tone dropped to match the air around them, cold and sheer. 'Oh no, for you are above that, are you not, Rad? Forever on the outside, smirking and sneering at our peasant-like ways whilst you scrabble to hold on to your tentative place among us. Well, get your laughs now. By the day's end we will have a conclusion to this situation, but for better or worse, at least we will be able to say that we lived it. We were not the ones to stand on the outside, watching, whilst those who would dare either triumph or die trying.'

Leaning against a damp wall, Rad had lowered his face as the words were spat at him. Yet, whilst he could not deny all that his sometime leader was saying, neither was he one to allow such utter single-mindedness to destroy all that he had come to appreciate about this village.

'You may well be right, Aran. About a good many things, I would wager. Yet, whilst you stand here, decrying me and my ways, shouting to the skies of your pride and strength, you deny the rights of those you have imprisoned on your, your _quest_ for greatness.'

The words oozed with venomous intent from a man who had seen too much anger in his life, too much destruction. For the first time, Radall could see a chance to stop a tragedy before it reached its ultimate end. That it had gone this far saddened him, but he could still see an alternative. If only he could reach Aran.

'They are children, Aran, and whilst you and I have made some bad decisions in our lives, they have not yet had the chance to choose anything for themselves. You took them from that clearing, by the gods, _I _took them from that clearing, and we brought about this situation. They have done nothing but endure and obey since the moment we tore them from all that they have ever known, and whilst I would have taken them back at the first stop that we made, it was not to be. Now is the time to make it right, Aran. Give them back to their kin, let them be the masters of their own fate. You speak of taking the only chance that you could see, well, I say give those children that same opportunity.'

The eyes flashed as the fair haired human angled his body further towards his supposed subordinate. Keeping the shadows in the trees in his peripheral vision, he nevertheless channeled as much rage as he could muster in to his muted reply, straining to keep his temper in check before his people, whilst struggling to rein in the vitriol he could feel burning through his veins.

'You understand _nothing_, Radall! So you carried one of the children, cleaned their wounds, learned their names. Is that what this is about? This loyalty that you suddenly find? You, who has no bonds to anyone, who roams from village to village, staying only as long as they will stand your arrogance and independent idiosyncrasies? Because they looked to you and only to you for comfort, you would dedicate yourself to their cause? It is nonsense! You only care for them because you know that they will cast you out. You do not know what it is to be part of a group, part of a close-knit people. Oh no, Radall the wanderer, living wheresoe'er he can, joining any hunting party that will allow him, surviving off the back of a horse and on the sliver of forestry skills he has gleaned from those unfortunates that he has since used up and thrown away. This is simply another of your last ditch attempts to find a meaning for your life, Radall, and if you can throw away your meaningless existence in some _noble_ fashion, then you can finally die satisfied.'

It was a clash of wills the likes of this village had never seen before, but none had the time or the interest in seeing it through to the end.

'Aran! They are here! Why waste time on the outsider? We should be readying ourselves, planning something-'

The unfortunate soul who voiced the opinion of his village was immediately silenced. Seemingly attacked from all sides, Aran could not find the patience to temper his reply.

'And what would you have me do, oh raucous one? I know they are here, just as they know we are aware of them. Do you wish for me to place you on a marked cross, place a sword in your hand? Point you in the direction I wish you to swing? Have any of you an individual thought in your head? This is the end of our troubles. Stay still and stay quiet and I will complete our part of this trade.'

Suitably encouraged by the hush which fell over the chastised members of his village, Aran fixed his gaze into the trees once more and barked out the order.

'Bring the little ones out.'

This was all Radall needed to hear. Pushing off from his position in the shadows, he made to move past Aran, down in to the basement. A hand to his chest halted his movement.

'He is not down there, Radall.'

A frown then a surge of anger flooded through Rad's usually placid features, and he rounded fully on the man before him.

'What do you mean, he is not there? I put him there myself, along with the-' His words petered out as horror passed over his face. 'You do not mean – he is not –'

A miniscule shake of the head released a sigh from the stoic hunter that he had not previously though himself capable of.

'The warrior that we fought in the clearing, he was here, earlier. He would have had all three had someone not realized that Sateth was missing.'

'Fool of a man. Dead?'

The clipped question took Aran slightly by surprise; he knew that Radall and Sateth had exchanged words in the not so distant past, and was therefore taken aback that he would inquire after the useless hunter, even if it was in a slightly uninterested manner.

'No, but he will be off his feet for some time. Knocked on the head then tied to a tree, I believe. It took two men quite a while to cut through his belt-'

'His belt?'

'Hmm. It would seem that our golden friend used what was at hand. Namely Sateth's own clothes. Took a nasty spell on the way down, too. Men said that it was as though the tree, and I quote, 'chewed him up and spat him out'.'

A small shudder passed through both men, and with it, any sense of humour they may have otherwise felt at the injured man's expense.

'That is why this is so dangerous, Aran. We do not know who these children are, or the power that their people wield. All we have is myth and hearsay, and even that is not promising. I will not lie to you, I am pleased that the child is back with his own kind. But surely this was warning enough to show you the uncertainties we are dealing with here? That warrior was beaten to within an inch of any normal human's life, and yet he lives. Lives well enough to track us over ground that our horses struggled to take with any great haste, strong enough to incapacitate and elude not just one of our guards, but all those between the forest and your own home. It is madness-'

'It is done, Radall. There will be no more time given to this discussion. Do you think I am unaware, unafraid? These beings terrify me for more reasons than they have yet shown, as myth and reality mix to make a patchwork of dread in my mind. Yet this situation is upon us. I may have been the culprit, the creator of our downfall, such as it may be, but we have no other choice. We either starve, or make use of those children. If the Gods allow, we may yet emerge from this with reward enough to live out the coming winter. But if it comes to it, the choice still remains simple. A quick, sudden death, or a lingering, painful one, watching as the people that I care about wither and die due to my inability to provide for them. No, Rad, this will be done. And it will be done now.'

Both men stood, breathing their unspoken thoughts out between them as their eyes locked and held. Yet there could be no compromise found. Whilst each had given and pled for their cause, neither could give way, even if they had both come to understand the other. At an impasse, they remained frozen, yet as ever, time continued, flowing around them and catching both men by surprise as two others arrived at their side, fresh from their trip to the nearby cellar.

For Radall, the sight of the two elflings hanging woefully from the large arms of their captors only clarified his thinking. _Two of the most beautiful creatures I have ever laid eyes upon, and we barter them like so much old cloth. This cannot be borne, I will not-_

Yet he could not bring himself to throw aside this village, either. The men and women watching the scene with held breath and wide eyes were seeing the same children as he, yet whilst for him there was always the option of a quick escape and a new village to seek out, for them, this could well be the beginning of the end. Should their ransom attempt fail, should there be no quarter given by the elves, then they would die this day, in their own home, surrounded by those bound by shared experience and time, those who had shared life and death together for generations. He could not help but yearn for that same sense of acceptance.

A sudden kick and a shout from the blond child broke the strained pause, and the man holding him dropped to all fours, clutching himself in pain. Happening so fast, it was only circumstance which stopped the elfling from escaping then and there. Whilst free from his bonds at last, the child was inadvertently caught by the heavy arm of the downed man, stunning the boy into inaction until Aran bent down and scooped him up once more. With a slight shake of his captive, the leader of the humans stared straight into the dazed blue eyes and raised one finger in front of Legolas' face.

'No.'

Of course, Radall knew that this child had yet to speak with any of the humans, and as far as he had been able to work out, had as little knowledge of their language as they did of his. Yet, if the stern tone and pointed digit did not resonate in the child's mind, the squeaking yelp of his friend certainly did.

Watching as his partner was felled and then lay writhing in the dirt, the man who had maintained a hold on the remaining dark-haired elfling reacted by holding his captive tighter. It had not been a secure hold from the outset, but unlike his friend, who had held the child in front of him, giving ample opportunity for such an attack from a well-placed heel, he had kept his elfling beneath one arm, ignoring the stilted whimpers as the small chest struggled to draw breath. Now, with his belief in the wiliness of elves proven at last, he also reached down and grabbed both tiny hands, dragging them from where they had been clutching at his own arm, trying to find purchase.

With both hands drawn out to one side and his whole weight pressing down onto the encircling arm, Elrohir panicked. Letting loose a searing yip of distress, his face creased in pain and his legs began to kick in a desperate effort to alleviate the pressure around his torso.

Radall moved forward without any conscious thought, hand outstretched and reaching.

'Aran, this does not further your plans-'

The kicking began to slow even as the twisting, straining motions doubled in intensity.

The blond elfling snapped from his semi-stupor and began to cry out in his own tongue, eyes flashing with fear and indignation as the wind seemed to whip up around the small group.

The man turned slightly, avoiding Radall's attempt to take the child, looking to his leader for guidance.

And Aran watched in paralysed horror as a golden fletched arrow punched through his man's chest, bursting through his back, only to stall, quivering, mid-way through its target.

The sudden silence was punctuated only by the keening breaths of the elfling hanging from his captor's shocked grip, kept in place only by the suddenness of the impact and the fear of moving.

Then the world started moving again; men began shouting, dropping back to shelter behind buildings and in doorways, women fleeing into dwellings, even as their partners scooped up their own bows, aiming them wildly at the trees and the indistinct danger that lurked there.

Aran choked down the curse which had risen in his throat and grabbed the injured man's arm, pulling him none too gently behind the nearest wall. Seeing his opportunity, Radall swept forward, extracting the almost limp elfling from his captivity and moving to shelter behind the opposite house.

It was with no small pleasure that he watched with barely withheld disdain as the man who had formerly held the blond elfling suddenly recovered enough to scuttle towards them, not looking back once in his haste.

Taking the chance to check on his newly-acquired charge in the tumult of the attack, Rad was hit once more by the indescribable beauty of the small beings that they had stolen away. The child that he held seemed even smaller than his brother had, and now, leaning incoherently against his chest, suddenly appeared just as vulnerable. The glassy grey eyes rose to meet his own, then falling shut with an exhausted sigh, the abused chest heaving in its new found freedom.

Recalling his brief encounter with this child from their journey, Radall raised one tentative hand to feel the lower chest pressed so loosely against his own, and hushed the pained gasp that emerged upon his investigation.

'Ssh, Elrohir, all will be well. It will all be over soon, I swear to you.'

Hearing his name, even if accompanied by words in a foreign tongue, seemed to appease the child somewhat, and Radall caught the soft whisper as it floated out into the air.

'Ada?'

The man had not heard the word before, nor had he any previous experience of the elvish language to draw from. But he was nothing if not a man of the world, and had seen enough children on his travels to guess at what the elfling might well be asking for. He was no Aran, ignoring the similarities that he saw between his race and that of the elves. And he had held this child and his twin enough to realise that they were simply that; children. Like any other child who had been hurt, separated from his friends and thrown into a world he had no wish to see, Radall rightly assumed just what it was that this child would be asking for.

'Yes, little one, your family has arrived.'

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

'Celebrian!'

Celeborn leapt forward and swiped the raised bow from his daughter's hand, even as she reached for another arrow. The attack had been too sudden for even an elf lord to forestall and he was saddened that first blood this day would forever be on his child's conscience. Then again, it did not seem that she would be too aggrieved. The anger on her face and flames in her eyes were not that of his silver princess, but of a mother who had reacted to the cry of her youngest child, and he found that he could not openly chastise her for that.

Neither, it seemed, could Thranduil, as he nodded his blond head gravely and muttered, 'Well shot, my lady.'

In other circumstances, Celeborn would have worried over the rest of his troops, as one arrow was often the signal to those too far away to hear orders to fire at will. Yet, he need not have wasted his anxiety. Whereas he had assigned the most tumultuous elves to his own party, those stationed to his left were led by Thranduil's captain, Nerometh, and his right was flanked, as always, by Haldir. Both were too astute to commence hostilities when the elflings were so plainly in sight, and so the forest returned to its state of wary silence, as the firstborn sequestered within sank deeper into its greenery.

'A fine shot it may have been, child, but it is a risk unacceptable to take again. The distance was too great, the wind unpredictable. Only Eru himself knew the outcome of such foolishness, and you should consider yourself blessed indeed that He is shining on you this morn-'

Again, there was no warning. In one instant, his daughter was gazing furiously into the distance, the next she was blazing before his very eyes, matching his stern expression and returning it tenfold.

'Shining on me? Shining, he says! I find it laughable, Adar, that you of all people could consider this day to be blessed. You, who have fought for far less and shed blood for things of comparatively infinitesimal value. That is my child out there, hanging from some human's arm like a cut of meat. That is my oldest friend's child, struggling and crying out and fighting his way free whilst we stand here, inactive and pondering the day away. It is well that you took that bow from me, Adar, for I would march into that village armed only with my hands and the arrows I could beg, borrow or steal and tear those children from those who would cause them any further anguish!'

Had Celeborn been any other elf in Arda, he would likely have lowered his head in the face of such fury. Yet he was no other elf. He was the Lord of Lothlorien and had lived for centuries at the side of one of the greatest elf maidens of all. And whilst his daughter was impressive, to his experienced eyes, she was not yet at the standard of the Lady Galadriel.

Placing a soft hand on her tense shoulder, Celeborn handed the bow off to a nearby warrior and looked straight into his daughter's gaze.

'My child, it is not for lack of want that I hold us back. That your sons are in peril is reason enough for me to raze this village to the ground, but you must consider the consequences. They are still alive, that much is clear. And these humans seem to have set themselves here in order to make a stand of some sort. This gives us time and opportunity to select the best positions for our archers, to see where the children are being held, to-'

'They are there! There for all to see and hear, Adar! They flaunt my children before me and laugh as I hear their cries! It is an offense that I will not bear when I have the means and method to make it end!'

The surrounding warriors began to avert their gazes as the battle between father and daughter flared up.

'This is my point, Celebrian! We do not have the means to stop this, not with any certainty of reaching the children safely before harm can befall them-'

'There can be no certainty, Adar. Yet I know that if I stand here, hiding in the shadows for much longer, the light inside of me will be extinguished as surely as the sun at end of day.'

A pained sigh rippled through the air.

'Oh, daughter mine, if you did not wear my face and shimmer in silver, I could swear that it was your mother standing before me.'

A highly unladylike snort shot back at the elf lord.

'Nay, Adar, for I know that if she were here, we would not be having this conver-'

'Where is Elladan?'

The hushed voice was all the more shocking for having been silent for so long. Each face turned to the strained visage of the Lord of Rivendell, then immediately to the centre of the village, where the elflings and their captors were no longer in sight.

'I- He was there, was he not? The twins, they, they stay together, they always go together! What do you mean, Elrond? Is he not with his brother?'

The panicked words were each punctuated by a sharp grasp of Celebrian's hands on her husband's forearm, yet even such physical discomfort could not rouse the elf lord from his self-imposed stupor. He threw out his senses to the wind, straining towards where he had last seen his youngest child and was met only with a dazed unhappiness tempered with something else, something he had not felt in many days…

'Oh.'

The tension only grew at that tiny murmur.

'What, Elrond? By Eru's light, what?'

Slowly, awareness seeped back into the grave face, and Elrond placed a steady hand atop his wife's.

'Elrohir. He knows that we have arrived. And,' Elrond swallowed hard as he fought to compose himself, 'he has hope.'

Far from eliciting the pacifying effect that he had intended, Elrond's eyes widened as instead, tears began to stream down Celebrian's cheeks.

'Oh, Elrond! That our children have been so desolate for so long that even hope is an improvement, I, I cannot bear it! They are too young, too innocent to be thrown into this horror! How will they ever return to the way they were? My sons, my beautiful sons will be forever changed, and I do not know how to live without their goodness and light filling my days!'

Distraught, Elrond looked on in devastated silence as his strong, sure wife clung to herself, arms wrapped tightly around her chest. It was not he, however, that made the move to comfort her. The words that she had uttered struck him for the first time, rendering him petrified, his body turned to stone. He had known that things would have to change. For such an event as this to be found possible required a change in the patrolling system, and guards would have to be assigned to the children should they wish to leave Imladris' grounds again. Each visitor to the forest would be sighted and identified before they made it within glancing distance of any of his home trees, and only those who travelled with genuine purpose would be allowed to pass through. But this, this was a whole other matter.

Changes in his land and the running of his home, he could endure. He did so on a daily basis, in fact, as two unruly elflings often made for slight shifts in rules and acceptable behaviour. Yet, there it was. The deep pain that accompanied any thoughts of his twin stars. For when they returned, he had imagined their upset and healing any wounds, comforting and holding them until the tears had stopped and all fears had been addressed. But he could see now how naïve he had been. His sons had been terrorised, injured and imprisoned, and now, it would seem, separated. There would be no easy treatment for this. The simple, childish view of the world that he so reveled in after a lifetime of witnessing the often cruel nature of Arda would be gone, replaced with the taught wariness and restraint that he had not imagined would affect his children for at least another century. And rather than the steady dissolve of such endearing innocence, it had been ripped from them in one violent act.

He could feel his fists tightening as the thoughts flew through his mind, and shook his head with deadly purpose. He would find his children. He would take them back. And there would be no help for those who had torn the childhood from his sons.

It was with a dreadful jolt, therefore, when he realised that the voice he had recognised in the background of his thoughts was that of Thranduil, and that he was speaking to Celebrian. Comforting his wife where he could not, and the guilt which that thought evoked made him draw her close, pressing his face into her silver hair.

'- it is not for you to live with or endure, Cel. They remain your sons, and want only to return to their home where we can show them all the love that we hold. The fear and the doubt will remain, I know, and there can be no denying my anger at those who would injure my child so, but I cannot help but believe that once Legolas is back within my arms that everything will fall back into place. It is where he belongs, my Lady, and to return to the one place that would welcome you, no matter how bruised or broken you may be, is a balm that not even terrors such as this can intrude upon.'

There was more to it, Elrond knew. Nightmares and fear and a creeping need to be safe and secure were only the start of what he knew would haunt his children in the future. Yet as he met Thranduil's eyes, he thanked him for the words which would shape their lives from this day forth, and for the calming of the lady he held in his arms.

The stillness did not last for long, however. To begin the healing of his sons, he first needed to retrieve them. This ended now.

'Elladan is not with his brother; that much I do know. Yet I feel that he is safe, wheresoe'er he may be. Elrohir does not seem overly concerned with his twin's whereabouts, so I would suggest that wherever he is, he should remain until we have liberated the other children. I know, Cel,' he raised a soft hand to hers when her pained visage dropped away from his own, 'yet our priority lies with the elflings in the most danger, and as your timely arrow would show, that is our Ro and Prince Legolas.'

Nodding in agreement, Thranduil took a step forward.

'It is too much of a risk, however, to simply rush them. And foolhardy, I would think, to imagine that we could be successful, no matter how superior in swiftness we elves may be.'

A firm hand on the regal shoulder showed Celeborn's support of Thranduil's analysis, and brought the attention of each elf back to the Lord of Lothlorien.

'The King speaks well, and I would hesitate to endanger the lives of the children with such an act. It is, therefore, a simple decision. We will walk out to the human village and request their terms. And when they have given them, we shall act. There can be no sudden movements or rash actions in this,' he turned to meet each gaze individually before continuing, 'as the humans have already proven themselves capable of vicious deeds. Nay, we four will journey out to speak with those who have forced this situation. Perhaps then we will see the true face behind the events of these dreadful days.'

Although inherently unhappy with the order, Celeborn's warriors accepted them without question. Spreading the message from branch to branch, the contingents surrounding the village quickly learned of the decision, and it was with tensed muscles and unblinking eyes that those remaining behind watched, hearing nothing but the whispers of the trees and the groaning of the wind, as the leaders of three elven realms walked out of the forest, into the waiting world of the humans.

It was with a burning determination that each swore to any God that was listening for guidance and protection.

It was with a heavy heart that they waited, hidden and safe as their leaders presented themselves, open and bare.

And it was with a righteous devotion that each sent all their affection out into the breeze, swirling around two small elflings whose hope had arrived with pointed purpose, and was now carved, indelibly, into a human's chest.


	18. Sights Sounds and Sense

**Title:**** 'Bridges'**

**Author:**** freeflow**

**Rating:**** T**

**Disclaimer****, A/N, Summary:**** See Chapter 1**

For Annie, whose review I could not reply to, but whose words meant more than I can say, and also Athenaswings, as I can't ignore a 'pretty please'!

And hopefully, this will go some way to assuaging Charmel's withdrawal symptoms. Enjoy!

Chapter 18

He had felt the stirring in the air even as the trees began to moan. As branches shifted and twitched, Glorfindel raised his face to the canopy overhead and searched for an explanation. He was not disappointed. The message flew from leaf to leaf and hummed on the breeze, and lifted his heart with its jubilance.

~ The elves are here! ~

~ The elves have come! ~

~ They arrive, golden one! ~

~ Your kin are here! ~

Pointed ears reveled in the song that swirled about him and Glorfindel could not resist shaking the small form he held so closely, if only enough to shift the black hair from Elladan's face.

'Can you hear the trees, little one? They sing to us, sing of your family and kinfolk riding to our aid. It will not be much longer, Elladan, before you are in your mother's arms once more. Before your Ada can lay his healing hands upon you, child.' Then, in a half-muttered, half-breathed aside, came the elf lord's deeper thoughts, based as ever upon the lifetimes of experience he had to draw from. 'Of course, it is unfortunate that our escape led us to this side of the village. Had I the chance to make the choice again, perhaps I would have chosen more wisely our route of egress.'

Shifting the elfling higher and dropping a light kiss on the pale brow resting against his shoulder, Glorfindel found himself shaking his head. Nay, what was done was done for a reason, and the path he had followed after retrieving this small wonder was the shortest and most accessible out of the village. To have reached the far side of the clearing within which this human domain existed, he would have had to carry his charge through the very centre of this community, doubtlessly encountering scores more men along the way.

Whilst he had little remembrance of the actual tactics he had employed to sway those who had initially barred his escape, he held no illusions; it was likely only his unfamiliar appearance and ragged demeanor that had assisted him, more than any premeditated actions on his part. To have hoped that such effects would likewise still the hand of every other man who he crossed paths with whilst trekking through the very middle of their village would not only have been foolhardy, it was never a risk that he would have been willing to take, not after he had only just regained one of his missing elflings.

He shook his head once more and stroked the fine hair covering the back of the small head and cupped his hand, leaving his palm pressed softly against the warmth there.

'Nay, little one. For you, and your brother and friend, there could be small argument as to how we left your captors behind. Quick and untraceable - elven even in escape. No foolish bravery or stout-hearted stubbornness would see you back in your family's care any faster, would it? Still, it does mean that we must take the long way round to reach our friends.'

Sensing rather than seeing a change in the elfling's condition, Glorfindel lowered his mouth to the child's tapered ear and whispered gently, as he allowed his own feä to flow into and around the child's struggling light.

'Awaken, brave heart, for it is a new day, and we travel to see your family at last.'

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Aran forced himself to stand steady as his panted breaths urged him to sink to the dirt beneath his feet. It had taken moments, mere moments for the elves to put him on the back foot, knocking all confidence and stubborn composure from him with the flight of a single arrow.

The man who had suffered the wound, fatal as it may yet prove to be, had been dragged through a nearby doorway and from the noises coming from within, was being tended to with less care than would usually have been shown.

Perhaps it was the tension in the air, or the uncertainty of the day, either of which could account for rough hands and a rougher bedside manner. Yet, Aran had not failed to notice his mother creeping into the house itself, obviously willing to help save the life of a fool, but not willing to let him forget why it was he had a piece of wood embedded in his chest.

'Aye, the elves have good eyes and even better aim, would you not say, Aran? To skewer that savage whilst in the act of harming one of their children, now, that _may_ go some way to appeasing their lust for vengeance.' The bright eyes which mocked Aran from across the way were ablaze with either mirth or madness, and the man had little time to decide which one he would have preferred. 'Of course, actually witnessing the brutality their children have had to suffer may instead have just sealed our fate.'

Winking over the head of the elfling cradled in his arms, Radall grinned with rare jubilance as Aran met his gaze. 'It will be interesting to see which way these so-called demons will react, don't you agree? After all, if they were not already irritated by having had their offspring kidnapped, their friends injured, their trees burned and then being forced to ride through the night after interlopers to their realm to retrieve said offspring, then being greeted by the sight of one of those children being slowly asphyxiated before their eyes may well be just the thing to make them angry.'

The blond could not take any more needling. Shifting his hold on the light-haired elfling, Aran pressed his back against the wall behind him and tuned out the muted groans spilling from the shuttered window by his head.

'Enough, Radall! You think that I don't know the atrocities we have wreaked upon those beings? I knew at each step just what the endpoint was likely to be, yet you are determined to drag up all of my decisions for questioning once more. It is done, it is in motion, and you-'

The glint was gone, along with any uncertainty Aran may have had as to the feelings of the man before him. This was anger, pure and unchecked. And although it was not what he needed to see at that particular instant, Aran was nevertheless strangely refreshed by its honest outpouring. It was, undoubtedly, the least complicated aspect of his day thus far.

'I should _what_, Aran? What exactly is it that you would like me to do? As, so far, you have managed to pit us against a troupe of elves who can shoot each of us _dead_ from one hundred paces, should they so desire, and all we have to defend ourselves are these little ones. Children who, until now, had suffered enough mental anguish to last a lifetime, only for you and your, your, _minions_ to pile physical injuries atop that. I not only distrust any path that you would plot for me, but after this last debacle, I simply cannot bear to see these babes suffer any further. This child is the double of the one I held and tended throughout your crazed schemes, and if you dare ask me to harm him, I not only fear for your safety, but also for my sanity.'

The snort which rumbled from deep within the human leader was edged with a growing shrillness that burst out before he could stop it.

'Faugh! Your sanity, Rad? That is the last thing you should be bothered with, having made it clear from the outset that you are the least stable, least dependable, least steadfast of all my people. You change allegiances in the blink of an eye, shifting from the path of righteousness to recklessness without thought for any other. You do not even know these infants, yet you would defend them over those who have sheltered and welcomed you for more than two-'

The flash of bared teeth resembled that of a starving wolf presented with a fatted calf, as Radall grinned his disbelief and leapt at the opportunity to finally deliver some choice truths. Aran could not help but brace himself for the verbal attack that was only foreshadowed by a hissing breath and the slight turning of Rad's slim form, as if to shelter the child he held from being caught up in the battle of words.

'Welcomed? Welcomed, he says! Oh, to have the blinkered view of Aran, leader of this almighty village, filled with good and noble people just bursting with the desire to open their doors and shower strangers with the fruit of their own labours. Never before have I known such hypocrisy! Here you stand, at this, the end of all things, at a crossroads created purely from each of those choices that have come before, and you declare yourself proud of this village. Can you truly not see the way you are, Aran? The way you all are? I held no false hopes when I rode into your little township, oh my leader, that this was a village any different to the scores that I have visited before. Every thought, every action that takes place here is a means to rising above others, putting you and your own before those who do not belong. I understood that, Aran, I truly did. 'Tis the way of the world, and I have long since come to terms with it.'

The voice had dropped lower as Radall continued speaking, until Aran felt his body leaning forward to catch the words that sliced towards him. Suddenly realising his position, he jerked back once more, flattening himself against the wall and silently scolding himself for his inattention. But he had no response to the accusations being flung his way, and if he was honest with himself, out of all of the people that lived under his leadership, this man, this outsider, was one of the slim few who he found himself listening to with any real interest. And he had no idea why.

'But this tiny scattering of humanity has no more right to live than any other creature fighting to survive; it is as selfish and insular and prejudiced as those elves that you so fear. Think you that I don't know why you act this way? Why you feel the terrible urge to steal the innocence of others, just to provide for these folk who have done naught but push and mould you into the thoughtless, dreamless creature that you have become? They needed a figurehead, a leader who would protect that need to survive, and they made you. And you do the job well, Aran. But, I think this time, you did it a little too well. Because you have forced these people to see what their desperate need brings. You have brought home the 'other' you have been blindly pitted against for so long. And they don't like it, Aran.'

The words burned as he considered them, eyes wide and unseeing.

It was untrue, of course.

He was the leader of this village, and he chose to act as he saw fit, the way that would benefit his people. That was the way of the world, not the twisted, malformed view that Radall had.

It could not _be_ true, for if it was, if he was merely some figure, born of a necessity, arranged to serve this purpose, then who was he, really? Who had he become?

He had known, before he had started this. Before the elves were there, in the forest, just waiting, begging to be snatched.

He had been right to take them, right to provide for his people, for the children. For his _mother_.

But suddenly, all he could think of was her voice, singing in a lilting tongue, whispering in bedtime stories, watching her smiling eyes as she told him tales of strange, wonderful creatures, fey and beautiful, strong and noble…

'Think you that this is what your father would have wanted? What his legacy should have become?'

Eyes flared bright with indignation and rage at the searing swipe at his most treasured of memories.

'Do not dare to speak of my father, Radall! You, who have never known the kindness of his words, or the look of pride in his eyes. You never knew my father, nor what he would have wanted, and it is not your place-'

'He would not have wanted this, child.'

Snapping his head round to meet his mother's tortured gaze, he found himself panting once more, only this time, it was not fear that had so affected him.

Stepping down from the doorstep and wiping her newly washed hands on the front of her shift, the older woman could not help but reach out to the blond elfling held so tightly in her son's arms. Stroking a gentle hand down the silky hair, she flinched at the immediate reaction from the child, who desperately tried to avoid any extra contact with the humans that continued to cross words around him.

'Aran, look around you. This is madness, my son, and there can be no happy solution if you carry on down this path. The children are scared, hurting; your people are fearful and desperate. As for the elves, I could not _begin_ to guess how they will act. Yet, as a mother, I know that if you had been stolen away from me, I would have travelled any distance and faced any foe to have you back, safe, within my arms. And having met elves in the past, having heard their songs and seen their open, loving natures, I would be willing to wager that they are likely just as moved by this situation as any human would be.'

Frisa took a stumbling step forward, hugging the side of the house as she moved, ever conscious of the rustling of leaves and unfathomable silence where the life of the forest animals would usually murmur.

'We know they are there, son. We know that until they have their children returned to them, that they will not leave. That brute in there,' she tossed her head at the house, as Aran noticed that the sounds of pain had stopped. Whether that meant his man had succumbed to treatment and slept, or his injuries and died, Aran could not say, and found himself unwilling to ask. 'He is but the first of many, should this continue. And that little already spilt is enough blood this day, without forcing me to watch anymore stain my home soil.'

A shuddering breath whistled out between mother and son and the elfling trapped within the war of words squirmed pitifully within his captor's grip. Seeing the movement and the immediate tightening of the muscles in her child's arms to counter the motion, Frisa raised a hand again, but this time to rest upon Aran's skin, gentling and pleading, all with a touch.

'Aran, chil-' Stopping herself, the mother stood back and straightened, meeting her son's eyes with a stern gaze. This was not the time for begging or cajoling. The day teetered on the edge of a knife, and there was only room for clarity and a forthrightness which had been sorely lacking from the start of the entire situation.

She had heard Radall's words, watching with pain in her heart as she recognized the truth within them. Yet she knew that her child still lived within this man's body, and it was only a matter of using the right words to show her boy that he was not only the chief that he was required to be.

'Aran. You may be the leader of this village. What you say is law, and although you have made mistakes, as each man does in his time, there are none who would see you stripped of that title. And you are no child; to throw anger and frustration into this day would only cloud your purpose. Yes, you have brought us to this, and I admit, that we may have forced your hand, my son. But there can be no turning back. If we are to save any lives this day, you must realise that harming these children is insanity. We may yet salvage some semblance of worth from this, but you have to be prepared to face the elves; talk to them, ask for their assistance. We do not need a leader, now, Aran. We need _you_, one of us, to extend our hand in friendship. We need you to speak our piece. You have the power to save us, son. And maybe, child, that will help you find the Aran that I raised, once more.'

As the soft voice stilled and the silence crept back in, the elfling in Aran's arms began to squirm again, making soft, breathy sounds that may have been words, should any of the adults present been able to catch them. But Frisa had only the scrapings of knowledge of elvish and neither Rad nor Aran could fathom a single word that passed through the quivering lips. Yet the desperate noises seemed to act sourly on the human leader, as he raised his gaze to meet that of his mother.

Seeing the stubborn look pass over the face before her, Frisa shook her head.

'You cannot threaten them, Aran, for we _are_ no threat. We may harm their children, but they will burn our village to dust in vengeance, if it comes to that. Make no mistake, the stories you have heard have their basis in fact. Elven folk may be the lighthearted souls that I met that day all those years ago, but theirs is a history long-lived and hard-fought. No race can survive so long by allowing others to simply take what is theirs.'

Her voice having adopted a lecturing tone, she gentled it once more and glanced over at Radall, catching his dark eyes over the top of the elfling's head as he continued to whisper comforting nonsense to the weary child. Looking back to her own boy, and seeing the struggling teenager he had been within the man he was, she smiled softly in remembrance of his childhood, and the happier times they had seen.

'You know that I speak only for your sake, my son. For all that we have here, I am grateful, and I know that we have you to thank for that, Aran. But this time, you need to stop listening to your need to save these people and just do what should be done, instead. We will follow you to our doom if that is how you decree it, but for your own sake, child, listen to your mother one last time. Talk to the elves. Explain our side. And help us keep our village, our home, safe for this one last winter.'

The caustic voice from earlier made a reappearance, but surprisingly, without the biting facetiousness that epitomized Aran's knowledge of the man.

'I am not half so enamoured with your actions or reasoning as your mother, Aran, yet I cannot help but hope you will listen to her words. I hide from no one that I was glad to learn of the other child's rescue, and hold these two remaining babes to be the only reason we have not yet been overrun by rampant elves bent on revenge. That we have survived this long in so harsh a season is almost certainly due to your prowess as leader, but I cannot see us living for much longer should this foolhardy ploy continue.'

Drawing a breath, Radall met Aran's eyes and then, quite purposefully, drew their joined gazes back to the blond haired child hanging wretchedly in the human's arms.

'The little ones should not be punished for their parents' ignorance, Aran. We may struggle and scrape for vittles, but they know nothing of our plight nor our pain. This is our time, our platform; if this is not the day to grant our village a voice, a way to make ourselves heard, then I know not when a better opportunity may arise. And yes, they may spurn us. We attacked them and theirs and provoked this entire encounter whilst they would have happily remained in their realm, hidden from the hardships we face daily. We know little of them or how they will respond to us, and we have done nothing to earn their trust or magnanimity thus far. But this is our lot, and we must now act in the only way we can. Not with ransoms and threats, but by appealing to a race we know naught about, bar legend and folklore.'

There was doubt still, lingering in the eyes of both men, but where once had been a stubborn gleam and a restless tension, Aran knew that Radall could read the change in him. The sliver of a smile that lurked at the corner of Rad's mouth could attest to that, yet for the first time, Aran did not grow angry at the sight of it. A gust of a sigh erupted from the blond man and he sagged against the wall at his back, clamping his eyes shut as though to block out the honest appraisal he knew the other man had made, even if it was too late to avoid the truth.

'Ah, how the Gods must be laughing at me this day. Who could have known when I began on this course that the voice of reason would turn out to be my least trusted man? And who would have dared predicted that it would be Radall the wanderer, Radall the loner, Radall the _outsider_ to whom I would eventually listen?'

Opening his eyes once more, he was slightly gratified to notice the smirk had changed to a look of irked disdain, as he caught the muttered words; ''tis such a strange thing, for Radall to be right?'

But his gaze was drawn once more to his mother whose own eyes were suddenly and, to him, inexplicably, filled with tears.

'Mother?'

Shaking her head and seeming to grow taller as she straightened, Frisa could not help but let out a short, shrill laugh, capturing all of the pent up fear and desperation which had forced her to confront her only child. Shaking her head, her hand once more stroked her son's arm, carefully avoiding the huddled back it surrounded.

'Do not mind me, son. It is an old woman's folly, and nothing more. Now, as your,' and here gladdened eyes met the dark haired man's across the way before continuing, '_outsider_ friend has made so clear, it is up to you to make sure that this goes no further, Aran. It may have taken his unswayable vision to see what we for so long have overlooked, but from this day could come the roots of a new kinship - one which we could sorely use in these sparse times. The elves have ever lived beyond our ken, son, but maybe, if we could reach out, they may yet reach back.'

The longing in those words had Aran remembering those days long past as his mother sang songs in a language so unlike their own, his father had laughed in sunlit rooms and he himself was swung high in the air by strong hands, and called their 'woodland child'. The memories, buried under responsibility and hardship sprang to life along with the bright and instantaneous need to act. And act he did.

Heaving in a single breath, Aran bent to kiss his mother on one pale cheek and smiled softly.

'Think well of me, mother. All I have done has been for our people, but all that I now do, I do for you, and the mother you have always been.'

Ignoring the sob from behind him, Aran spun away from the building's sheltering form and strode, slowly but definitively, to the middle of the village, sparing a glance for Radall as he passed. He knew not whether the man would follow him, and could not hope to predict the fickle movements of the one person he had never felt able to command, but felt himself let out a sigh of relief as he heard the steady footsteps trace his own.

And a tiny smile, slowed only by the abject fear the approaching tree-line caused in him curled the corners of his lips as muttered words sailed past.

'Well, it's about time.'

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'Movement, Sire, from the midst of the village. Two menfolk walking this way – and carrying the little ones! They have the elflings with them, my Lord!'

Had it been possible for the elves to become more alert, this excited message called down from the treetops would surely have caused it. Celebrian whirled away from her husband's touch, darting to the tree-line and grasping at the bark of a thick oak which sang at her proximity. Fingers gentle even in her distraction, the elf-maiden caressed the trunk as it shielded her from sight and possible harm, but allowed her to finally see the face of at least one of her babies.

Her stomach felt made of stone, and sank ever lower at the vision before her.

'Oh, Elrohir, my silver star, what have they done to you?'

The whisper rumbled through the tree, up through the branches and a silent cry poured through the limbs in a scattering of pink blossom petals, fluttering down around the silver lady. The soft touch of her father's hand did little to comfort, yet she leaned against its warmth with that same undying, childish hope of every soul born to loving parents; the trust and belief that her father could make this situation disappear with just a kind word and a knowing smile.

'We will have him back soon, little princess. I promise you that.'

The kiss pressed against silver hair did not sway her gaze from her child's tired form, but the tears that obscured her sight for only a moment were each noted and counted by Celeborn's keen eye. There had been too many of those today for him to forget anytime soon, and it was past time for him to collect repayment from those responsible. He was yet to allow any being to take what was his without returning the favour, and these humans were not about to be the first.

'Thranduil, we make our move. Inform your captain of our plans and inform him that I shall be leading the, shall we say, negotiations, with these creatures.' He raised a hand to forestall the obvious retorts forthcoming from both the King and his son-in-law, shaking his head. 'Nay, it is no use trying to convince me otherwise. Whilst I know that each of you have eminent backgrounds in diplomacy, I fear that a cool head and an even colder heart may have to be employed here. For the children, we can make no missteps. You are too involved, too hot-headed,' and if he glanced at the King on so saying, each of those present had the grace to overlook it, 'and too overwrought.'

Faced with the reddened face of the King of the Greenwood and the tense, drawn features of the Lord of Imladris, others may have felt a slight anxiety when asserting their position above them. But with his daughter weeping under his palm and both grandsons gone from his protective reach, Celeborn would accept no other place but at the head of the elves there gathered.

And, if he was honest, there was a secondary reasoning for his actions.

_As if, Eru forbid, anything were to happen, these two rulers of elven realms could not blame each other or themselves for it. My child may loathe me for the rest of her days, but her husband she could not stand to lose. Nay, if there is to be a villain this day, it will not likely be human. As once these menfolk are gone and forgotten, Celebrian's elven memory will only recall the one who led the charge to retrieve her boys, and who, in the trying, may well cause their deaths._

Glancing skyward, Celeborn tightened his hold on his only child and searched in vain for some higher guidance.

When only the green leaves and the endless blue looked back, he sighed and fell into his role with little regret.

'I shall lead. We will stand undivided. And we will succeed. Now, let us take back what is ours.'


	19. Reunions and Sunderings

**Title:**** 'Bridges'**

**Author:**** freeflow**

**Rating:**** T**

**Disclaimer****, A/N, Summary:**** See Chapter 1**

Well, I took an age to write chapter 18, so it's only fair that you don't have to wait the same length of time for 19. Happy (belated) May Day!

Chapter 19

They emerged from the trees with no fanfare to precede their arrival.

If Aran was honest, he would have admitted that his heart had skipped a beat as he realized that it was no longer _he_ who was forcing the bridging of the distance between the two groups, but rather two peoples converging, and that the control that he thought he had had disappeared with the first elven form that rose from the darkness of the woods.

But there could be no hesitation now.

_They will have archers in every tree, each as deadly as that which hit the fool back in the village. We make one move away from this, one step to take these children out of their range of vision, and we are… _

Aran swung his free arm in a casual motion around the child in his grip, brushing fingertips over his sword hilt in an unconscious search for reassurance.

_Little difference it will make, I am sure, but so long as my sword arm is free, I will fight for this village. With sword and sweat and spirit, I swear, mother. I will fight. We will fight._

The action, however, triggered an unforeseen side-effect. Whilst comforting the human, that same movement knocked the elfling in his grasp back to his previous hyper-vigilance.

With the man behind him holding on so tight, Legolas had quickly grown accustomed to a steady, persistent grip. But, with the swinging of one arm across his front and the slight heightening of the tension in each muscle holding him captive, the Prince's attention was suddenly drawn away from the slumped form of Elrohir in the dark haired man's arms, and over to the path which their captors had chosen for them.

And with that, the silence was broken.

'Ada! Ada! I am here, Ada, please, come take me ho-'

The hand that slapped over the tiny face was neither gentle nor rational, and each individual in the vicinity, both man and elf, flinched at the contact.

It was too late, however, to take it back.

Suddenly, the methodical coming together of two groups was thrown into upheaval. One of the four elves making their stealthy approach let out a roar of absolute rage, only to be grabbed on both sides by his companions before he could reach for bow or blade. Radall's head had snapped around at the stream of elvish words that had flown from the child, but stopped dead only at the vicious manhandling he witnessed, his own eyes blazing at the unnecessary action.

And the child hanging from his arms bucked and heaved with a terrifying strength, all the while sobbing and gasping for breath through Aran's locked fingers.

The hand loosened and then dropped as the man realised what he had done. It had not been a conscious reaction, just a foolish, instinctual need to maintain the silence, the absolute quiet that held the actual communication between man and elf at bay. He knew that they had to speak - it was, after all, the reason for everything that he had done thus far - but whilst the silence remained, he had felt some semblance of authority. Yet, with the uttering of a language he had no understanding of, the situation had become instantly and devastatingly clear.

This was so far beyond anything that he had ever known… and he was terrified.

_This…this is slipping out of all control…_

The thrashing elf before him had not calmed, he knew. The rigidity of the lithe form bespoke of a terrible control that simmered closer to breaking point than should have been possible, whilst the bright blond hair which streamed over proud shoulders seemed to burn with a fervency that fairly screamed hot-blooded fury. The heaving breaths and burning wrath in his eyes was obvious even to one who had never seen such a creature, beyond that of the children he held prisoner and the ones he had left lying in a smoldering clearing. And whilst those elves had been angry and determined, the one standing before him now had lost all sense of reason and purpose.

_No, Aran, you have given him purpose, you fool. You have even reinforced it with your idiocy. Before, he was here to claim back a child. Now, he lives to repay that which you have forced his child to endure._

And there could be no mistaking the similarities between the elf and the teary form he still held. _The hair, yes, and the shining eyes, but moreover, there is a bearing there which I would not have noticed without seeing them together. And the temper – well, we have seen often enough this little one's attempts to right the wrongs done him and his friends…_

Aran's eyes dropped once more at the thought.

_Wrongs. Yes, I suppose they have been wronged, even if I still believe in the necessity of this situation._

But the stalwart self-reassurance of his own actions could not make him raise his gaze to that of Radall, whom he knew was staring at him with anger of his own written plainly across his features. And neither could it exonerate him of the creeping guilt he felt as the child in his arms wept and writhed, and the grey eyes of the child leaning wearily against Rad's shoulder trained themselves on him, questioning without words why this had to happen.

Yes, if Aran was honest, he would have asked himself that same question.

But he knew not if he could have found an answer.

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Any semblance of sense and decorum had disappeared. Celeborn may have taken authority over this group of elven lords with the idea of maintaining some control when the negotiations started. He may even have thought that, with his centuries of diplomatic experience, that he was best qualified to do so.

Had the Valar been willing, this entire atrocity would have already ended; children returned, humans sufficiently dealt with and their separate retinues heading for Imladris and safety.

But ever had humans spoiled the plans of elvenkind.

And ever had the love between parent and child caused breaks that no mere elf could bridge.

Celeborn let his hand fall from Thranduil's trembling forearm, convinced at last of the other's hard won restraint.

When the cry of pain had been rent from his child, Celeborn had barely had time or, indeed, the strength, to hold the Silvan king back. Before the blow had landed, Thranduil was moving, hands stretching out, reaching for the elfling that was so close, so very close at long last. But it was not yet time to claim the boy back. And as angry as Celeborn was – an anger which grew with every step he took towards his huddled grandson and the sobbing Prince – he yet recognized that they had to approach with far more finesse than an elven blade would allow.

Still, it was tempting.

It became still more so when the human before him called out in a voice that crawled with false bravado, souring the air around them.

'It is not with any great surprise that I see you here before me, my elven friends. I know that we took from you that which is most precious, and for that, I am regretful. But we have needs that must be addressed, and your progeny provided us with an opportunity. T'was almost an act of the Gods, laying these prizes out before us to be claimed-'

The hissing that emitted from the other human surprised Celeborn somewhat, and had Celebrian jerking towards the man with a barely hidden twitch of fear. Yet the elfling in his arms did not react, and from that, Celeborn began to form a suspicion.

_Once removed they may be, but ever have the twin stars of Imladris shown their links to the ancestors that preceded them. Like their Grandmother before them, my daughter's sons hold that which allows them to look past the surface of a moment; be it into the future, or into a spirit. For Elrohir to have given over his trust to this dark haired human, he must have some redeeming features that supersede his obvious affiliation with this band of renegades. And he does not seem too enamoured with his leader, either… _

The elf lord drew his gaze back to the lead human but made room in his tactics for some unplanned assistance, should the dark man be pushed too far beyond his limits.

_In an instance such as this, I will take any aid I can, whether it be from friend or foe…_

He had paused for too long.

'Should you touch my son in such a way as that again, I shall test how all-seeing your gods are.'

The growl took no elf present by surprise, but seemed to shock the human before them. Celeborn could not tell if it was the Westron that had stupefied the man, or the sheer murderous tone that had stopped his impromptu speech.

Either way, it gave Celeborn an opportunity. He stepped forward, raising his empty hands.

'You have us at a disadvantage, human. It would seem that not only do you hold our kin, but you also hold our attention. You said that you have needs. We only wish for the safe return of the children. Speak your wishes and we will listen.'

Narrowed eyes and a tilt of the head showed that the human was listening, yet he seemed unsure of how to proceed.

'You will listen, elf? Well, then I will speak.' He licked his suddenly dry lips and took an involuntary step closer to the group of beings watching him so intently.

'My village suffers. Did you know that? That we live just one day from your lands, yet we struggle to survive while you and your children frolic in the forest. We dread the winter and its desolate nature, whilst you celebrate with songs and dancing. We have heard the echoes of such times, heard tales of the everlasting festivals that you enjoy. For an age we have not seen a single elf beyond the forest line, yet within the darkest depths, you prosper, unquestioned and ignorant.'

The anger that sprang into the features before him startled Celeborn with its honesty.

He had travelled to this village with every intention of doing the bare minimum to retrieve his missing family, willing to fight to the death for that very cause. Yet this human stood before him, baring his mortal soul for the viewing, and believing in this course of action so fervently that he would enrage an entire people to accomplish it.

Perhaps he would listen, after all.

For a time.

'We do not wish for a ransom to be paid. Had we only wanted coin, we would have made our stand in that clearing and awaited our fate there, away from our wives and children. We have no wish to declare war. We need no more enemies than those we are already losing to, and not even the great elves can compete with the destructive force of a mid-winter blizzard. No, you had to be made to see. To see the lives that we wish to preserve, to see us as a village desperate to survive, but unable to do so any longer, should you turn us away. You have said that you will listen, elf. But can you also see what we are trying to protect?'

Celeborn could see. He could see farther than any human alive in this clearing could, had lived through the demise and starvation of hundreds of tiny human enclaves such as this. And if he was to speak of his feelings on the subject, then he would have been hard-pressed to express much sadness over the losses.

Such was the way of humanity, it had seemed to him. They split themselves into sections, warring and battling for dominance in a fashion that no other being on Arda could emulate. They lived and died with the seasons, thriving in sunlight and faltering as the dusk settled on their strength and youth.

Oh, he knew well that elf-kind had known its own share of disreputable moments. That his people did not always welcome their Silvan counterparts, or the high-brow Noldor for that matter. That the consequences of the kinslaying had resounded throughout all of elvendom for an age afterward, and even still sparked anger amongst those that dared to think upon such dark times. But an elf would never be turned away should they be in need of aid. No matter their bloodlines.

The worlds of elf and man were indeed very different.

Still, this human began to stir his interest.

Willing to hear any requests from his own subjects, Celeborn found that he could do no less for the man before him.

'I see well, human. What is it that you would propose?'

Wide eyes seemed to flicker over the elves as though the human was searching for some form of deception.

'Tis simple enough, elf. Whereas your people feast, mine starve. We ask only for the means to feed ourselves throughout the dark months. To hunt on your lands, to seek the fruits of the woods within your borders where we have not been permitted for generations. Our lands are bare, as you must have surely witnessed on your passage. We would ask only for access-'

'Witness?! You think that we paused to take in the scenery, human? That this has been some jaunt in the forest for us-'

A gentle hand attempted to calm the elf before he could make another move towards the human holding his child captive. For the first time, the dark haired elf spoke, and Celeborn realized how much he had missed the soothing tones of his daughter's husband.

_Ever the diplomat, ever the leader. Aye, Elrond, if even in the face of your children's peril you can act thus, you are surely a scion amongst our people, my son._

'Thranduil, calm yourself, my friend. This helps no one, and does not retrieve our children any faster.' Turning piercing eyes on the human before them, it was Elrond's turn to make his presence felt. 'Although I have little reason to want to listen to your voice, human, it would seem that we have small choice in the matter. That my friend holds you in the utmost contempt I can well understand, as it is not only his child that you hold in thrall, but my own, also. And I have little time for those who would attack my people in their own lands, tear my children from their home and put flame to the very trees that afford us our realm.'

Celeborn could not help but smile inwardly at the visible shrinking of the human before him. Elrond had not uttered a single word that would threaten the man or his village, yet the presence of character that was so very clear in the Peredhil from his first word could, and had so often in the past, strike a visceral sense of uncertainty into any that he faced. Student of Gil-Galad himself, Elrond had absorbed the indefinable essence of leadership that spoke of power without boundaries, and that was enough to terrify both man and elf alike.

'Still, the fact remains. We have come for our children. We have listened to your demands. Now you must give us something in return.'

_Ah, and the negotiator returns. Father or not, Elrond cannot help but fall back on his centuries of training when dealing with others. This may be the most important arrangement of his life thus far, but he is eminently capable of seeing this through. _

The human did not seem to agree.

'Give you something? We have received nothing as yet, elf. We have your children. Why would you endanger them by making such a demand?'

He had twisted his body away from the elves as he spoke, seemingly trying to remove the elfling in his grasp from the easy view of its family. Celeborn and each elf present were not pleased with the motion. Elrond narrowed his intent eyes even as Thranduil growled audibly.

Smiling with grim anticipation, Celeborn raised one regal hand and spoke.

'Stop, human. We make such a request in the hope of receiving a show of faith from you. You know of our prowess with the bow. My daughter showed your man earlier how she felt about the way you were treating her son.' If Celeborn had enjoyed the expression on the man's face when Elrond had spoken, he very nearly laughed out loud at the slacked-jawed stare that Celebrian received as he allowed this piece of information to be revealed. It was made even more impressive by the complete lack of attention that she paid the human; her gaze, as it had been since the beginning of this meeting, fixed firmly on the back of her child. Celeborn savoured the shiver that ran through the man. 'This skill is not uncommon amongst our kind. Now, we have shown you that we are willing to listen. Even as you mistreated our children before our very eyes, we took no immediate recompense. You put forward your requests. We are owed a return for our actions.'

A scowl and a tightening of his arms showed Celeborn of the response before the words hit the air.

'You are _owed_ nothing, elf. I am in control here, and will be until…'

The sentence was never completed.

Celeborn did not glance behind himself, but he could see on the face before him just what the sight must have been like.

Perhaps now they could move forward.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Radall felt sick.

It took a fair amount of upset to cause the usually placid man to feel any stirring of his emotions, and although the last days had seen him act on his feelings a lot more than was normally the case, he still considered himself to be a man of stoic countenance and sensibility.

Yet, when what looked to him like quite easily two hundred elves rose from the tree-line and the branches themselves to point just as many gleaming arrowheads in the direction of the village he had come to call home, all semblance of unfeeling dignity dissipated like breath on the wind.

His breath, as a matter of fact, as he felt like he had forgotten how to take in any air.

And just to make everything ten times worse, Aran opened his mouth again.

_I swear, if he gets me killed before the end of today, so help me…_

'You bluff! Not even the mighty elves could be certain, at that distance and with so many arrows, that your children would be unharmed. We still hold the command, here, so long as we have the children, so long as you d-'

'Aran!'

Radall could hold his tongue no longer. As he had followed his leader out into the clearing to meet with the elves, he had believed that the man beside him had, at last, come to some sort of sensible decision.

Yes, he knew that this was important, and that to fight until his dying breath was so engrained in Aran's soul that little could make him back down from this meeting to end all meetings. He respected that, he truly did.

But he had seen the man react with frightening violence to the blond child's cries, and had seen the barely tamed fury in the elves opposite. Goading the elf into revealing the small army at his back had done nothing to assuage either side, and Radall was rapidly running out of options.

He wanted to save the village, of course he did.

But ever since he had held that first elfling in his arms and was made to care for it when it had no one else in the whole of Arda to rely on, he had known.

The village may need someone to save it, but that elfling had needed _him_. Just as this little one needed him now.

And, Radall thought, if he was astute enough, he may even be able to accomplish both missions with just one little act.

He knew that Aran only barely tolerated him at the best of times. But today, Rad was all he had in the way of assistance. And this was the only way he could think of to get them out of this mess.

He took a step forward.

'Radall!'

He almost stopped at the venom in that voice, but then felt the tiniest of stirrings against his chest.

Placing a soft hand on the back of the dark head that lay exhausted against his shoulder, he raised his eyes. To his astonishment, the silver elf-lady had moved without sound or effort, and now stood before him as beautiful and ethereal as the nymphs in the stories of his childhood. He met her gaze, felt it burn. Desperately, his mind fluttered, trying to drag himself away from whatever spell she was casting on him.

_Aran warned you, all that time ago in the forest! Elves and their magic, they bewitch and beguile and we are helpless, helpless…_

Then just as suddenly, he was released. And the only burning he could feel were the tears that streaked his cheeks as he saw the glistening silver that coursed down the stunning visage before him. Silver that was separate from her shining hair, silver that had no place on a face so perfect.

She cried soundlessly, but raised her arms with an almost deafening desperation.

'Radall! Radall! Do not even consider it, Radall… Rad! If you give him back, we are lost, you fool! There is nothing to stop them killing us all!'

The words were those that he recognized, in a voice that he had come to value.

But they were nothing compared to her.

The void in his arms as she swept her child to her chest was as a gaping maw, and he found himself standing, lost, merely an observer to all that was taking place.

Aran was red-faced and bellowing, words that were lost or dismissed before they ever made contact with Radall's mind. The blond child stared with an open look of part-hope, part-longing at his friend, even whilst holding hands over delicate ears, drowning out the harsh tones of his captor. The blond haired elf had maintained his stance, glaring unerringly at the shrieking human before him.

But the remaining elves, the silver haired speaker and his daughter and the dark haired elf, were all huddled as close as possible around their recovered child, stroking and gentling and caressing with hands and words and bodies. The sobs from both mother and child were just as unbearable from a distance, but at least, Radall thought, there is now an undercurrent of joy to be found in the sounds.

And he had helped cause that.

It was worth it. Surely, it was worth it.

The harsh breath that he dragged in did little to calm him.

_By the Gods, he had done it again. Cut himself off from people he had grown to… to appreciate. People he could have come to…_

Aran's voice sliced back into his consciousness like a slicked dagger, between the ribs and angled upwards.

'You have killed us! You have killed us _all_, Radall! And for what? For your moment of warm-hearted reunion? To stop your taciturn nature from changing its allegiance once more? Throw in your lot with the elves, Rad, for there is no place for you here, anymore. Do you hear me? You are finished, Radall. We are finished with you!'

And although the gentle cries of a family rejoined should have buoyed up his heavy head with feelings of joy and pride, Radall could hear naught.

Shunned once more, the loner took a step back and dropped to his knees.

Caught between those that had been his and those who could never be, he ground his fingers into the blades of grass beneath him.

_Man or elf, 'tis just the same, Radall. Same as it ever was. _

_Alone again._

Still, for the first time, he could not bring himself to regret. He could not regret staying here. Nor helping the elf-children. And certainly, he could never regret being here, to see this moment.

As the elves had one child back. Two, if the golden haired warrior had reached his kin with the injured child.

Now, they had only one objective, only one obstacle.

And as much as Radall had come to respect the man, he was very willing to admit that he was looking forward to this moment.

Aran could shout and bluster and negotiate all he liked.

The fire in the eyes of the elves was unquenchable.

Radall settled back on his heels. He may well be alone again. But he was not quite as alone as Aran was.

He took great comfort in that.


	20. Fathers and Sons

**Title:**** 'Bridges'**

**Author:**** freeflow**

**Rating:**** T**

**Disclaimer****, A/N, Summary:**** See Chapter 1**

For Annie, who writes such beautiful reviews; she never fails to remind me of the humanity behind these characters, and the readers who are along for the ride. And Cathrine, who always brings a smile to my face, and humbling words of support. Thanks to you both!

Chapter 20

The burning in his eyes flickered from hot to cold with each tumult of feeling that roiled through him. _How had it come to this? This- this utter disaster of an endgame?_

He had nothing left but the child he held in his arms and even that was little defense against the creatures that appeared to surround his village. They who could heart-shoot a man from the shadow of the trees. Proven in blood already that, if she had had the inclination, the man they had already so wounded could have died in the instant their woman-warrior had raised up her bow.

And now even Radall had fallen to their elven charms.

_Or capitulated like the mercenary dog that he is…_

Aran gritted his teeth together simply to quash the building hysteria in his chest. It was unraveling where he stood. His plans, his idea. His very reason for being.

He was no fool. He had not risen to his position simply by accident of birth. He was, after all, only the son of a blacksmith, named for a fairy story his parents had surely invented in their postnatal ecstasy. All that he had, he had taken for himself; building up his standing and reputation as a skilled leader, strong and vital in the face of overwhelming difficulties. For four winters now he had seen his village through its worst times, with the loss of only those already destined to leave this life being mourned in the warmer seasons.

Yet here, with the cold winds beginning to sweep back into their homes and food becoming scarce once more, Aran was trapped.

_They were a blessing. A gift from gods we had long believed to have forsaken us. What else could such a meeting be? At what other point in the history of this village has the path of elves and men crossed?_

If Aran felt the tug of an obvious answer in his heart, it did little to assuage his rancor.

_Named for them, I may well be. But by the gods that have presented this opportunity to me, I will not waste this chance. These creatures have been myths for too long. It is time that they give to their flesh and blood neighbours what is ours – do we not share this earth? The gods have pushed us together. I am the reason why._

He glared at the downturned face of his one-time accomplice and let out a snarled grunt.

'I will waste no further breath on you, Radall. May the gods have mercy on you for the choices you have made today. I, on the other hand, am going to do as they have ordained. As ever, it is up to me to save these people. I hope you can live with yourself.'

The flash of a saddened eye was no comfort as he spun away from the tableau laid out before him and, hoisting the child up and around, he began to stride back to his village.

He had taken only two steps before four perfectly placed arrows thudded into the dirt before him, marking in a straight line where his feet would have landed. He drew up short and straightened, gripping tighter to the child that now reached out over his shoulder, struggling and letting out frightened chirrups as he once again was carried from those he longed for.

The voice, when it came, was not what Aran expected.

'They call you _Aran_, human?'

The silver-haired elf, he would have understood. He had placed himself at the forefront of the negotiations, so it would have made sense for him to be engaging him now. The darker elf, even, had spoken so calmly even in the face of his children's abductors.

But the blond elf? He had done naught but growl and threaten his way through the situation until this point. And now, with his child squeaking and squirming the way it was, Aran would have expected rage rather than the dark curiosity that he sensed in its stead.

He turned slightly, just enough to bring the elf back into his peripheral vision. _No use in letting him make eye contact. Saw what that did to Radall. _

'That is what your compatriot called you, is it not, human?'

The child had stopped its movements at his father's voice, and Aran was slightly startled by the sudden stillness. His arms tingled as they sought to maintain the grip necessary to hold such a fluid being even whilst the child had paused in its endeavours.

'That is true, elf, for all the good it will do you. What of it? Did you think us humans all nameless, faceless mortals who simply while away the seasons until disappearing from this earth? Does it puzzle you that we should bother to name our offspring as we spend such a small portion of your lives walking these plains? Are we that insignificant, elf?'

A slight curl of the lip was the only response his diatribe evoked, leaving Aran feeling uncomfortably disconcerted, maybe even a little childish after his rambling, churlish response.

'Nay, human. Not even I, who have had so few encounters with your kind, could find the love of a parent for a child so bewildering. Even the deer we hunt and the birds we sing with show the same affection for their young. I would not imagine your race to differ so dramatically from my own.' A glint of the simmering anger still present resurfaced, if only momentarily. 'At least, in that, we are alike.'

Aran found that he could not help himself. Mystical entities or not, turning his back on an adversary was against his every instinct, and he turned to meet the gaze of his elven counterpart.

'My question was not due to any interest I may hold for the practices of your species, human. Rather it is your name that intrigues me. Aran. 'Tis not a usual human name, is it?'

His brow creased as the conversation veered steadily further off course.

'No, elf, it is no human name. And whilst I do not see why it should interest you so, I admit that it is elven in origin. Yet if it this is an attempt to forge a common bond with me, then you are sadly-'

A laugh that was devastating in its chilled foreboding seemed to shift Aran's stomach up into his throat for an instant, before flopping back with a sickening jolt.

'Faugh! Oh, believe in this, human, if nothing else, there is not and shall never be a forging of any kind of bond between you and I. The only connection that we have is the child you hold in your arms. To you he is, you believe, the means to living through this winter. To me, he is life. That we both need him in order to carry on in this world is the closest that we will ever come to kinship.'

Eyes widening slightly at the ease at which the regal being before him admitted his devotion to his child, Aran could not help the unconscious tightening of his arms. _Then we are at a stand-off, are we not, elf? For I have him, and you need him. That is the simplicity of the matter…_

Yet before he could take advantage of this outpouring of honesty, the elf continued, cutting Aran off.

'Still, it does strike me as strange, human. Aran itself may well be an elvish word, but it is no name. For you to have acquired it would either be a great coincidence, or else a power far greater than you and I could ever be has worked to arrange this entire happenstance.'

Truculent it may have been, but Aran found himself unable to hold in his child-like rejoinder.

'Then you are not so superior as you would like to think, elf, as mine is a name taken from one of your race. An elf who saved my mother and father, and for whom I was named.'

The glistening in the elf's eyes seemed to grow in intensity, searing into Aran as he struggled desperately to find his feet in this tangential conversation. For the first time in a number of moments, he took the time to look around fully, only to find every face turned towards him, even that of the family reunited off to one side.

The high-browed, dark elf even went so far as to break away from his child, taking a stuttered step towards his blond-haired friend as his eyes narrowed.

'You were named for an elf named Aran?'

_This is growing away from my purpose… Away from my plan…_

The need to take back control of the situation had the blond human thrusting his face forward, bullishly, sneering a response.

'Aye, elf, I was given the name of one of your kind. And it is I who took your children from the midst of your lands. But as I fail to see what one has to do with the other, perhaps we can move back towards the more pressing matter of you giving me what I have requested. Before I claim not just the name of an elf, but this little one's life, too.'

As soon as the words passed his lips, he knew that it had been a mistake.

Oh, he had made his intentions clear from the outset, attacking so brutally, treating the elflings themselves little better than contraband and using them as living shields against their own archers. But with this outright threat to his child, the blond elf could not be restrained any longer. The curiosity, as thin and fleeting as it may have been, was gone. All that remained was a fury unlike any that Aran had ever seen, and he took a stumbling step back in the face of it.

And promptly became entangled in the arrows scattered behind him.

Off balance for even so short an instant, Aran only had time for one passing thought before an elven blade was pressed oh-so-steadily against his throat.

_Lived by an elven name, died by an elven blade. At least there is a certain symmetry to such an end…_

It was over.

He knew that, and apparently so did the elves encircling their position, as they moved in from the tree-line just far enough that he could see their expressions. Cold, unforgiving and absolute in their belief that this human had to pay for his crimes. And it seemed that it was now inevitable that he would.

He closed his eyes, even as he tightened his grip on the child in his arms, and realized that as he had fallen, he had twisted to keep the child from landing first. The thought brought him an odd feeling of peace.

_Hmm. Who could have known that even I could fall to the elven charms? Perhaps Radall may be forgiven after all… At least one of us may be…_

But he had not let go. Not yet.

The words dripped over him with utter disdain staining each syllable.

'Release my child, human.'

His head shook unbidden in a tight motion, but was clear enough without knocking the keen metal against his skin. The blade pressed harder, the first bloom of warmth trickling down his neck.

'This is over. Release him, or I shall take him from you.'

His own stupidity, his own stubbornness and his failure to remember those damned arrows, each small mistake had ended any hope for his people. This was the least he could do. The very least.

'Nay, elf. Our deal is not yet done.'

A scornful laugh and the blade shook, staining the tunic of the small form he held so tightly. Tiny hands pushed at him as the elfling realised the power now lay with his father. Still, Aran gripped his lithe form.

'Deal? There never was a deal with you, fool of a human. If I am correct, then the deal was struck with my son, not I, and it holds no sway over me or my child. Now release him, afore I lose my last shred of patience.'

With all that was happening around him and the pressures he suddenly felt pushing his head ever closer to the dirt beneath him, something about that last sentence just did not seem right to Aran. He had lost track of the elf's train of thought, and he shook his head in puzzlement.

'Your son? I do not strike deals with children, elf, and I certainly have struck no accord with this one. If anything, he has been the most troublesome of all of our captives, and has spoken no word that I or anyone here could understand. How could I have struck a deal with him?'

Aran could not help but note the glint of pride that fired in the elf's eyes when he had shared the agitating nature of his child. _Perhaps it is a sign of strength in their culture to be as disobedient and irritating as possible… It certainly would explain some things…_

Yet the answer was serious and pointed, letting the human know in no uncertain terms that whilst he could ask questions, the power now lay with the elf, and it was up to him how he responded, if, indeed, he chose to at all.

'T'was not this day, human, nor with this child. As you so helpfully pointed out, my son has not yet been taught the language of humankind. Nor have I had any wish for him to begin such lessons. This has done little to change my mind.'

At the sight of an arched eyebrow and opened mouth, the elf spoke once more, before Aran could formulate any further questions.

'Nay, the elf with whom recompense was agreed was my eldest child, Erutur. He told me the tale of his dealings with this village and its people. Yet he had not suffered at the hands of its people as my youngest has. He did not feel the sting of harsh, unknown words or the lick of flames in his home forest. He was not held like yesterday's meat, slung under an arm or over a shoulder, alone and afraid. And had he any inkling that this village that he so praised would later come to harm his sibling so, he would never have come here, nor helped rescue the humans that would later bear a child in his name.'

Aran's eyes drew narrow and his face twisted with an immediate distaste.

'You cannot mean… You said he was Erutur. There is no man here with such a name, and I may have been named for an elf, but, he was, that… It is a myth! Nothing but a fable thought up to ease a child into slumber, to bolster strength when a father died, leaving his son broken and wandering! I do not know your son!'

The savage smile that swept across the blond elf's face cut deep into Aran's disbelief, and nausea rose within him.

'Aye, that is certainly true. For my son would keep no acquaintance with a human such as you. But my Aranince, my Aran, he was the elf who rescued your parents. T'was he who brought them back to cries of joy and celebrations. To the gratitude of your grandfather and the adoration of your mother. He who left with the invitation to return ringing in his soul. T'was for my child you were named. And it is for him I feel most sadness. For he has held to your parents as scions of human goodness through all the years of me telling him otherwise. I questioned the judgement of my son and each time, he recounted the tale of finding your forebears, talking and singing with them, bringing them home to those who had missed them. And it is he who will feel the pain of this more sharply than any other, _human_.'

The snarled last word held only contempt and Aran could not help but cringe in the face of such open disgust. His eyes darted from the ground to the elf before him, to the far off ranks of elven realms and the closer, wide eyes of Radall.

It made no difference.

He knew this, as surely as he knew anything. His people still starved in their homes, wasted in the freezing cold and damp misery of poverty. It was irrelevant who these elves were, what importance they had held to his parents, to his… his…

'My son, who healed your father's very _wounds_. For him, this shall be as a dagger, streaking a betrayal unfelt by our kind for generations.'

_Father! By the Gods father, I am sorry!_ The blue eyes searched the vista before him for something, anything to help him make sense of the riddle he had fallen prey to. Yet all that was there were those stone cold stares, even the whisper of the wind having paused in awe._ I only ever tried to be who you would have me be, only ever tried to lead our people, our home, to prosperity. I did not know, I swear to you, I did not…_

He rocked back, drawing away from the realisations and the stabbing truth that pressed against his throat. Yet the elf did not move with him. The sword was not lowered, nor did it shake in its determined placement, but it made no move to advance any further.

Aran knew that the elf before him had seen the knowledge seep into his face. He knew that those eyes that had burned with an unmatched fury now simmered with a confidence born of years of experience, decades of dealing with enemies and casting them aside, centuries of honing that innate _knowing_ that each warrior must have, that told them exactly when the battle is won. He sank down into the dirt beneath him, and shook his head.

''Tis over, elf.'

The expression did not change. It was no surprise to the creature who towered above him. He wondered if these elves could scent their opponents defeat in the air, as he felt the circle of beings around him press ever closer.

'This, I know, human. There remains but two parts of this tale left untold.'

Aran raised a weary face, but could not find it within himself to speak.

It made little sense, but he found himself relaxing in wordless relief as another voice rose up.

'And which parts would they be, elf? For as much as I agree that this has to end now, I will not stand idly by as that man or any within the village here are slaughtered. We did wrong, this we know. But I would not see those children witness anymore bloodshed, nor will I stand for the murder of a broken man.'

Aran felt a brief surge of disdain at Radall's words, but found that he could not fathom up the anger to dispute them. He was sapped, utterly and completely. He had meant what he had said, and held true to all of his beliefs. But his last utterance was the most veritable. And in more ways than he had originally intended.

He cast his weight forward and tottered to his feet, clutching the strangely sedate child he still held. Drawing a tentative hand through the tangled blond locks, he took a step forward. And with a dreadful calm, he pushed the child towards its father, fleetingly amused by the clumsy attempts to sheath the still bared blade before it was cast to the earth in a hurried motion.

The cascade of air, earth and birdsong that followed was as a cleansing balm to Aran's mind, even as he knew that it was not for his sake that it swirled across the clearing. That the child had burst into renewed tears held little import to the human who had been stripped to his very core. The sobs only showed his captor all the more clearly just what he had caused, but did nothing to deepen his grief.

He staggered backwards and dropped to the ground once more, before turning mournful eyes towards his village.

He had known that they would be there. The women, the children. The men he had led for so long, through so many hardships. People who had given their lives and that of their sons, brothers and husbands to this madness. Given over their trust to him, to a man named for an elf, a man weighted ever down with the burden of an impossible predecessor.

They watched now. Swathed in dust and the silence of the beaten, they watched.

Aran lowered his head and whispered.

'We are all undone.'


	21. Gone

**Title:**** 'Bridges'**

**Author:**** freeflow**

**Rating:**** T**

**Disclaimer****, A/N, Summary:**** See Chapter 1**

For Annie once more, because 'read you soon' made me laugh so much!

For Cathrine, because I've made you wait for so long. (Sorry!) And because after another review, you helped me remember that there's another life beyond the real world. And most of the time, it's a whole lot more fun!

Chapter 21

The breath that he released raised the attention of the three elves hanging in the trees above him, heads snapping round in an instant. It had been too good an opportunity to miss, even in such tense times.

'Back to the training ground, I think, for you good warriors. If I were not so weary, I would show you myself just what an elf on guard should be aware of. Creeping seneschals are never an exception.'

It was not a completely foolhardy act. Yes, the elves in question had each aimed a razor-sharp arrow head at him. In fact, with his head still swathed in the remains of a torn tunic and day-old blood spattered across his brow, he must have looked quite the image of a suspicious intruder, enough even to make an elf question the innocence of such a bedraggled apparition. But it was no real risk, and as much as he teased, he trusted each of the surrounding warriors implicitly. Had had to, in both battle and otherwise, for more seasons than he cared to remember.

And he was overjoyed to see them thus, wide-eyed and silenced. For a moment, at least.

'Glorfindel!'

'Where have you been, my Lord? The Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrian have been worried-'

'We have all feared for you, my Lord!'

'Oh, the child! You have the child, my Lord! Finally, all begins to come right-'

'Which is it, my Lord? Forgive me, but they are so alike, the twins-'

'Is he all right? He is so still, so quiet… I have never seen the elflings so sedate…'

The silence which fell over the suddenly somber gathering allowed Glorfindel to finally make himself heard. Sighing softly, he stroked a gentle hand over the raven head and smiled.

'Yes, friends, he will be well. Master Elladan comes back to himself slowly but certainly, as strong as his father before him. And as for where I have been, well, that is indeed a tale to be told. But not here. I wish only to deliver this little one back to his parents, and join the charge to reclaim our other wayward sprites.'

The raised eyebrows and sideways glances were like reading from a book, so well-versed was Glorfindel in the ways of his warriors.

'It has begun, then? Aye, it has been longer than I had hoped, and Elrond alone would have flown to retrieve his boys. With Thranduil too to wrangle with, it is no surprise-'

'It is a fair assessment, my Lord Glorfindel, but you are underestimating the Lady Celebrian. For not only did she rally the arms of her people quite deftly, but she also drew first blood. As would be expected from the daughter of the Lady Galadriel.'

As the blond elf dropped from the boughs, Glorfindel was awash with emotions. _Haldir! Then 'tis likely that Galadriel already knows of this entire situation, perhaps before it had even come to pass… And Celebrian? First blood? Where was Elrond when this came to pass; where was the Silvan King? How did it fall to a lady to make the decisive blow-_

'Do not worry, Lord Glorfindel. T'was but a mother's instinct that caused the first arrow to fly, and the rest of our archers would have had their captain to contend with had their own followed. The Lady Celebrian is no amateur and no real damage was done but to the human who dared to abuse a child before his mother's very eyes.'

The bright gaze fell to the still form that Glorfindel held securely and a soft palm rose to skim over the lax body.

Having met the twins on a number of occasions, Haldir and his brothers were equally as taken with the bright young sons of their princess as the twins were with the brethren. Although considered rather formal and sober by the majority of his realm, even Haldir had been undone by the spark and curiosity of Elladan and the boundless enthusiasm of Elrohir. His brothers had fallen to their charms not long after.

Each visit to their grandparents' lands since had seen the twins return home laden with trinkets and toys, secreted in pockets and pouches, stuffed inside bedrolls and once, collected in a basket which had previously stored the carefully prepared lunch for that day's travel. Whilst Erestor had flown into a flustered fit, neither of the elflings could be brought to apologise or even acknowledge the consequences of their hasty actions, as not only had they found a safe place to put their 'precious things', but had also, as Elladan had put it, 'given the squirrels the nicest meal they'd ever had'.

Having been the elf to introduce both children to the squirrels in and around Lothlorien, Haldir had been forced to hide a smile when the tale was recounted by Lord Celeborn later in the season, lest he lose the reputation of propriety he had spent so long honing.

That the imp who had giggled endlessly as one of the furry beings scampered over his bare palm had been reduced to the lifeless, injured form before him hurt the elf more than he had thought possible. And although he maintained - with admirable fortitude - his famed composure, Glorfindel could see the anguish in those often shuttered eyes.

'He is mending, my friend. Slowly, granted, but he is coming back to us.'

The whispered words were meant only for Haldir's ears, and the blond elf lowered his head in appreciation of both the message and the thoughtful delivery.

Sweeping the dark hair away from the restful face, Haldir raised his eyes to Glorfindel's once more. 'Then I owe you my thanks, Lord Glorfindel, as you have brought back that which is most beloved to my Lord and Lady. And, I must admit, one who holds high esteem in my own heart.'

A light smile ghosted over Glorfindel's face as the warrior before him straightened up to full height once more, the mantle of authority and serenity settled firmly back in place. A bow of the head and Haldir's gaze turned towards the clearing behind him.

'The children remain yonder, held by the men that spirited them away from us. I believe that our Lords and the Lady Celebrian are at the moment still-'

'My Lord! They have the twin, the Peredhel child! The dark haired human, he-'

The rush of words stopped as the newly arrived elf dropped from the tree branches overhead, suddenly noticing the other recent arrival and the child he held.

'Both, we have both of them! Lord Elrond will be elated, and the Lady Celebrian-'

'Warrior. Report.'

The steady words and soft tone served to ground the excited elf, and he snapped into a formal stance as he recited the words he had practiced in his short scramble back from the tree-line.

'We have recovered one of the elflings being held by the menfolk. One of their own turned the Peredhel child back over to the Lady Celebrian, and the remaining human attempted to escape, taking Prince Legolas with him. I was sent to retrieve you, my Lord, before the situation moved beyond recovery.'

It appeared to Glorfindel that Haldir did little more than raise a solitary eyebrow, and the entire unit in his immediate vicinity shot from their positions to some pre-arranged formation that must have passed him by.

A moment later, he was alone with the Lothlorien warrior and only the steady snuffling against his throat breached the heavy air that surrounded them. His voice was tentative as he asked the question he had held in since he had arrived back among his people.

'The others, Haldir. How do our Lords and Lady fare?'

He knew that the answer would have been perfunctory in the presence of their subordinates, but Glorfindel hoped that here, with no one but the trees to hear, Haldir would allow himself to be honest and open with a fellow leader.

'What would you like to know, Lord Glorfindel?'

_Ah, Haldir. Ever the stoic, steady commander._

'Simply that, Haldir. You have already made it known that Celebrian fired the first arrow – am I to take it that all of those elves now undertaking negotiations for the very lives of the children are of a similar mindset? For if so, I am not filled with overwhelming confidence-'

'My Lord Celeborn would never place the elflings in such jeopardy, Glorfindel. You know well how he cares for the twins, just as the Lords Elrond and Thranduil-'

The loss of the honorific before his name gave Glorfindel the signal he needed. He raised a hand and smiled gently at his counterpart, causing Haldir to tail off mid-sentence. He had to admit, it had been far easier to rile the elf than he had thought, but then again, the twins were not just important to their family. Add in an additional slur towards the Lord of Lothlorien, and Glorfindel had accomplished his task.

'Peace, Haldir.' He hefted the sleeping elfling higher as the child curled tighter with a sigh, then relaxed once more. 'I do not mean to question Lord Celeborn's decisions nor underestimate the ability of the others to conduct themselves with great dignity, even in the face of such difficult circumstances. But I would like for you to share with me, warrior to warrior, captain to captain, how much of a toll this has taken on those we serve; on those we love.'

The placid face had returned during the impassioned speech, yet Glorfindel could see the subtle difference there. Now Haldir realised that Glorfindel was no underling, that he had no reason to hide his anxieties from him. They felt the same pressures, the same helplessness in the face of such situations. He could speak freely here, and would not suffer for it.

'They- they are all understandably tense, Lord Glorfindel. And I worry for the Lady Celebrian,' he continued quickly, seeing the raised eyebrows and moving to curtail the obviously dubious expression crossing the other elf's face, 'not, you understand, because she is any more fragile than the others. Nay, from a young age, my Lady Celebrian has ever shown her tenacity and strength through all manner of trials. But she fired the first arrow, Glorfindel. She embarked on a path none of the others had deigned to contemplate and I fear for her.'

_Ah, there it is. The unspoken worry of every over-protective elf on Arda. _Glorfindel could not blame Haldir. It was ingrained in the elf to watch over each member of his royal house, and none held his ever-watchful gaze more so than the silver-haired elleth he had grown alongside.

'Fear not, Haldir. For whilst I would be loathe to thrust so much upon young shoulders, especially in their current, poor state, I would wager that the return of her babes will go a long way to assuaging the rage that seems to have overtaken our fair Lady's heart.'

Smiling once more at the slightly damp breath against his throat, Glorfindel redirected his questioning.

'And how does our visiting monarch fare, my friend? For if Celebrian has acted so rashly, I can scarce believe that King Thranduil Oropherion has stood dispassionately by…'

A gentle breeze seemed to lift the blond strands from the regal elf's shoulders and Glorfindel was struck in that moment by the marchwarden's affinity for the ebb and flow of Arda's natural forces.

_If I did not know better, I would have sworn that the whistle on the wind was delicate laughter…_

'_There_ is a question, Lord Glorfindel. So far, His Majesty seems to have comported himself with admirable restraint and decorum.' A brief cough and a tilt of the head had both elves moving in the direction of their fellows, even as Glorfindel pondered his companion's next words.

'Although, if _I_ were one to wager, my Lord, I would say that it is the work of the very Valar themselves that will save this village and its people. And I can only hope, for the sake of those who hide behind children and mud-walls, that the Valar lend fleet hooves to their messengers on this occasion…'

Had Celebrian the presence of mind to acknowledge the reunion occurring in another part of the clearing in which she stood, she would have happily rejoiced in the blaze of melody and warmth that the forest itself seemed to emanate; she would have recognised the birdsong and chorus of the trees even as King and Prince melted into the arms of the other.

But she did not see the tears of joy on her old friend's cheeks, nor hear the sobs trickling from the elfling he clutched. She saw nothing but the pain and terror still wrought upon her youngest child's face, and even with his heart pulsing in time with her own as he rested his weary brow against the beat in her throat, she could not relax.

She burned. As tears swept from her eyes and a shrill keen rose from the depths of her being, she wanted nothing more than to skewer the broken human squatting in the mud before them.

It was for _nothing_. Vision of the Valar be damned, nothing and nobody could ever convince her that the pain her babes had endured was for the greater good. She knew the songs, the stories of heroes long dead. She knew the ballads sung in the Hall of her home, by firelight and wine, mourning those passed and learning from their legacy. She had been taught of those who had served a purpose greater than their own, forged through hardship and necessity. But this? This was nothing but human greed and human destruction and she could not let it pass. She _would not _let it pass…

She had moved before she knew what she was going to do.

Passing the child in her arms – the child she had longed for over countless moments, craved with all of her soul – into the arms of his father, she drove the man into the dirt, clawing and tearing with the viciousness of a she-wolf.

It was madness. She knew it. She was a wife, a mother, a Lady. She knew better than this.

But she could not stop. She did not stop. Not until a strong, firm arm wrapped itself around her waist, and _tugged_.

And still, she struggled. Still, she needed to mark, to maim, to destroy the weak, worthless creature that bled into the ground, who looked upon her with utter devastation in its eyes.

And then she was shrieking.

Over the voice which murmured in her ear, the soft vowels and silver tongue of her father. Over the deep and resounding whispers in her mind, the golden caresses of her mother. And over the voice which, in the days ahead, she would weep with regret for having ignored when it mattered the most.

'Where is my child, you wretched human? Where is my Elladan? What you have done shall not go unpunished – you have not the slightest inkling of the power my family wields! I shall see you destroyed, utterly and entirely! Give me my child. _Give me my child_!'

The man did not answer, did not even attempt to try. The moisture which she had thought due to her frenzied attack on his face continued to flow, and her spent nerves could take no more.

'You dare cry? You dare to shed a tear for your own situation? Your own self-pity? You have torn child from parent, burnt the home of my people and wounded a being so dear and gentle that his very fea balks at the thought of taking life. A being who has lived for longer, seen more and is loved more than you could contemplate, and you would strike him down, simply for your own gain!' The arm around her midsection began to loosen, and the noises around her began to make themselves known. But she had not quite finished. 'You stole from me that which is most precious, that which I would kill to recover. That you still breathe is only due to the wishes of those who care too much for me to allow my own hand to be sullied by your worthless blood. But do not doubt, human. If you do not return my child to me immediately, not one of those present here will be able to stop me from rending you limb from limb. Upon the house of my ancestors, I so swear.'

Eyes blazing with the light of her line, Celebrian knew that she was a sight to be reckoned with. Knew that the voice that she had spoken with was backed and supported by each and every mother that had come before her. And although the fire still burned within her, that knowledge had helped to ground her once more.

Until the man uttered the words that would haunt her dreams for an age to come.

Elrond had long since given up any hope of leaving this clearing with his family as they were before this whole debacle had started. He had walked out from the tree-line determined, however, to retrieve his sons and to leave with as little bloodshed and as much dignity as he could maintain.

That plan had fallen by the wayside as soon as his child was back in his wife's embrace. He had swept his arms around them both, clinging to their conjoined fea as a drowning man to driftwood and thanked the Valar for their part in returning half of his pride and joy to him. His face had burned with the struggle to hold back tears of thanks, happiness, relief and lingering terror. Then, he had watched as his wife had transformed from thankful lady to vengeful mother, thrusting Elrohir at him and flying at the cause of all this upset with fingers outstretched and talon-like.

And he would admit, if only in his own head, that it had scared him all over again.

Oh, he had known in some, abstract way that his wife had such power in her. Such vitriol and venom that he had always subconsciously avoided; without any real, solid knowledge as to why. He had known, too, from whom she was descended. The splendor of her lineage was well recognised and, indeed, he thanked those with greater foresight than his own for the privilege of capturing her hand and heart in marriage. Thanked them again, each and every day, for the beautiful and shining stars that she had gifted him with. Babes such as theirs could only have come from such scions as Galadriel and Celeborn and their respective sires, of that there was no doubt in Elrond's mind.

Yet, the utter fury which he had seen in his wife's eyes had stricken him to the core. He supposed that he should have expected it. No one had crossed the Lady Galadriel and lived to tell the tale; why should it be any different for her daughter? Just because she had never before had cause to feel such anger should only make him more thankful. But… where was his gentle Celebrian? His silver star-shine, music and grace incarnate?

Had he simply been blinded by love this entire time? Had this fierce creature always lurked within his Lady's delicate form? And how could he retrieve the peace that had always been a balm to his burdened thoughts when his wife had every right to rage against those that had hurt her own?

His mind whirled with questions and fears, uncertainty and doubt, and throughout the entire confrontation, he could only watch as his father-in-law restrained Celebrian, muttering words of solace to her in his stead.

The words that he whispered were not for his wife's ears; certainly, as she threw threats and damnation at the man at her feet, she could not hear anything that he had to say. Would not, he knew, until she had drained herself of the passion she was embroiled in. Rather, he lowered his face to the child he held so very gently, and began to sing.

The wails that had begun as soon as his mother had released him had turned to muffle themselves in the breast of his tunic, and the warm patch of wetness spreading slowly through the material was real enough to bring an unexpected smile to the elf lord's face. _My boy, my child, here and real and warm! Oh, to hold him once more, even in the height of his fear, is more than I had dared to dream…_

He knew that it was foolhardy. To turn one's back to an enemy on the field of battle rattled his training back to its very core; but he did it anyway. His warriors were surrounding them, and Thranduil's second, Nerometh, seemed to be as trustworthy as Haldir. Between the two of them, he feared little and, by the Valar, he needed this. Needed this moment, now, to be just him and his youngest.

The words he was singing had not registered in his own mind; some silly rhyme from his own childhood, he realised afterwards. But it was working; cutting through the mindless fear and outpouring of days worth of trauma, bringing his little one back to him. Maybe it was the words themselves, he thought, elven lyrics soothing to tiny ears which had heard only raucous Westron for too long. _Or perhaps the voice, _my voice_, which has soothed night terrors in the past._ If only he could do that same here…

Small fingers scrabbled at his chest, and he raised the elfling higher against himself, rocking slightly. The shouting behind him continued, but he kept only half an ear on his wife's words. He knew what they would contain; what he himself had been thinking of, endlessly, on their trek to this point. But he could not find it within himself to be furious. Not the furious that he had expected, at least.

It had built and built at each hoof beat, and he had been certain that by the time he held his son once more that he would be ready to rain havoc down upon his enemies.

But Elrohir was here, and so small in his arms.

And the light which had been torn from their lives flickered back into being. Unstable and thready, but there. His fury was gone, and in its place beat the life of one so precious to him as would make Anor itself irrelevant. Such was the power and promise of a child, such was the love that he held for his.

Then, the tiny form let out a great sigh. He pushed away from his father's chest and looked directly into Elrond's face, and said:

'Hello Ada.'

And Elrond laughed as tears streamed down his cheeks.

He could not help himself. His beautiful child. _Oh, how could he have forgotten that? The ridiculously simple but endearingly straight-forward view that his boys – like every elfling, in fact, that he had ever known – had of the world? How could he have doubted the goodness and innocence that would shine through, even in the darkest of instances? When his day had been dark and trying, their indomitable spirit could sear the very shadows from his own and, doubtless, would do so again. If they could only reunite their entire family…_

And just as suddenly, the moisture on his cheeks turned stone-cold, the laughter sticking like thorns in his very throat.

The wretch on the floor had finally spoken.

The words tore over and through Elrond's ears with the pain of a thousand blades.

Celebrian fell to her knees and Thranduil's face finally appeared, white and stricken, from Legolas's hair.

Elrond did not dare to breathe.

His world had ended.

'He is gone. The other child. Gone.'


	22. The Truth Will Out

**Title:**** 'Bridges'**

**Author:**** freeflow**

**Rating:**** T**

**Disclaimer****, A/N, Summary:**** See Chapter 1**

**Hmm, just noticed that I'm using what is considered to be an outdated elvish word here; forgive me, I started this fic a loooooong time ago and really leapt into it with both feet, without giving much thought to research or accuracy. Although, in my defence, I did have a valid reason for choosing to use it – I just lost interest in that plotline mid-way through the fic and am still debating whether or not to work it in somewhere. So excuse the 'amme' usage, and sorry if it detracts from the story at all. I hope it doesn't – but at the very least, it does show that continuity is still a primary aim in my story! (Hee...)**

Because you've waited for so long, and I feel guilty, you're getting a double dose of fic! And because I've missed these characters more than I'd realized…

Chapter 22

Legolas could not remember ever being quite so confused as he was right now.

It had been a difficult day.

First, they had still been with the men. That was horrid. Then, they'd been locked in some dingy, dusty cellar with hardly any light and _no_ food and then the men had come and shouted at each other, and then they had gone and left a woman crying outside their door.

Legolas didn't know if men cried a lot, but if his Amme had ever cried, then he would have felt terrible. That was just one more reason to dislike these creatures, as far as he was concerned. They let their women-folk cry, and that would always be wrong in Legolas's eyes.

Then, Glorfindel had turned up, but he'd only been able to rescue Elladan, and Legolas didn't know how he felt about that, exactly.

He had been pleased to see his new friend, of course, even if he did look slightly the worse-for-wear. And he was glad that Dan was feeling better, too. At least, as far as he knew, from what Elrohir had told him. But they'd had to stay behind, and he didn't much like that. Not one bit.

But then, everything had happened too fast. And he knew that he'd sworn with Ro to be brave and make his Ada proud, but the men had scared him, and hurt him, picking him and Ro up like sacks of flour and carrying them about, and then his man was shot, and he'd felt excited but still scared, and then the leader man had grabbed him.

Legolas hated him.

He hated his stupid hair and his horrid voice and his rope-like arms that had dug into his chest when he'd tried to wriggle free. He hated that they'd hurt Ro and he couldn't do anything to stop them, and then, more than anything else, he hated that the leader man was the only thing stopping him from running to his Ada as fast as he'd ever run in his life.

Then, just as suddenly, he stopped hating him.

For his Ada was speaking in that same, ugly language, and had that look in his eye that meant either a very long spell in his dungeons, or a short, sharp meeting with the blade of his sword.

And so then, Legolas pitied the man.

Because his Ada wouldn't let the leader man hurt them anymore. And he'd teach him a lesson for all the bad things he'd done, and he'd have him tell him in his man-language that it was wrong to steal people and hurt their friends and make the trees scream and make ladies cry and, and, and-

And then, all of a sudden, he was in his Ada's arms, and he didn't care about that man or any other man anymore. And he was crying.

Now _that_ was not supposed to happen.

But his Ada was there, after what had seemed like _forever_, and he could hear the trees again, and they were singing for them, singing with joy. And Legolas felt sudden relief.

Not just to be away from their captors – although he was perfectly fine with _that_, thank you very much – but he realised with sudden clarity that he hadn't felt content since that night in the woods, when he had awoken from that strange, odd dream, and had wanted his Ada. He hadn't known it, he thought, but he had been ignoring that sense of, of _something_, that had assaulted him on that trip to Imladris.

Not that he had any powers of foresight. Legolas knew his strengths, and they lay solely in creeping, pouncing and tree-talking. _And someday, when I'm the greatest archer in all of Arda, shooting too, I suppose!_

But that vague sense of events in the near future could quite easily have slipped in to his dreams. The trees which helped him rest easily beneath their boughs caught inklings of things to come, reading the air and earth as easily as an elf did Sindarin. Whispers of foreboding may well have trickled on to the path of elven dreams and since that night, Legolas had felt a disturbance, an unnamable inevitability that had pervaded all of the fun times he and the twins had shared.

Creeping and sneaking and stalking Glorfindel had all been underscored by the itch between his shoulder blades which had smacked of unease.

Until now.

Because now he knew what the trees had known, had lived through all that they feared. And whilst he had not enjoyed this adventure at all, he knew for certain that this time, in this instant, that they were safe. They'd all be alright, now.

Until his father froze, and raised his face away from where it had been pressed snugly against his own.

Until the Lady Celebrian paused in her attack on the leader man, and fell to her knees.

Until Lord Celeborn drew his sword from its place at his side, and began striding towards the village, raising his arm as he spun.

Until more elves than he had known existed seemed to melt from the tree-line, and began stalking towards them with pure hatred in their posture and eyes.

And now, Legolas was even more confused.

He was tired of it.

Wrapping fingers around one of his father's braids, he nudged the chin in front of him with his forehead.

'Ada?'

The only response was a tighter hold and one of his father's hands coming to rest on the back of his head, stroking down his tangled hair and returning to lie against his neck, keeping him close.

Legolas liked that. He really did; it reminded him of home and of night-time snuggles before bed. But now was not the time.

'Ada.'

But his father was turning to speak to the man on the floor again, angry and trembling.

The leader man was silent, and had an empty look in his eye. Legolas didn't care. He had more important things to worry about.

'Ada, why is everyone going in to the village?'

When it came, the reply was almost an afterthought.

'Ssh, Greenleaf. There is naught for you to trouble yourself over, everything is fine.'

The gentle rocking motion had been soothing before, but now it had begun to irritate the smallest prince of the Greenwood.

'Ada! Why are you still shaking? And where is Lord Celeborn going?'

He couldn't help it; his Ada was doing that adult thing again where he would ignore children when he thought they would only be getting in the way.

Legolas had had enough of being something to exchange, an object to be bartered or stolen or trapped. He was going to be heard, and he was going to be heard _right now_.

Pulling on the braid in his hand, he squirmed with an almighty _push_, and dropped to the ground. He could see the fear in his father's eyes as he took a step back, away from his outstretched arms, but he would not stop now.

It was time to make a stand.

He stomped one foot in to the grass and crossed his arms over his chest.

'Ada, no! Tell me where everyone is going and tell me what the leader man said to make you so mad! I am not a silly elfling who doesn't know when something is important, and I want to know - now!'

Eyebrows rising in surprise, King Thranduil stepped back and acknowledged the determination in his child's face. He knew where that came from, and whilst stubbornness had been his family's trait for the last few ages, such steadfast righteousness was a resounding example of his late wife's line.

How he had loved her for it. And how he thanked her for passing it to their son.

''Tis Elladan, my Greenleaf. This _wretch_ said that he is… that he is, well, _gone_, and the Lord Celeborn will not accept that. He is, I suspect, going to tear that village to pieces to find his grandchild.'

Legolas's eyes opened wide.

'But he isn't there, Ada. Glorfindel came and took him away, rescued him from the cellar.'

A sob emanated from behind them, and they both turned to see Lady Celebrian fall against her husband, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Legolas almost flinched as Lord Elrond met his gaze, need and hope blazing from him.

'Glorfindel? He has Elladan?'

Legolas felt his father move to stand by him, and this time, he did not move away. He nodded his head and forced himself to straighten up, meeting the elf lord's stare, not noticing as his hand wrapped itself once more in the hem of his father's tunic.

'Yes, Lord Elrond. Glorfy came and tried to get us all out, but Elladan was hurt and he needed to go first and by the time we'd wrapped him up and he was saved, the men came and stopped us. But Ro said he feels better now, not jagged like before, so Glorfy must be making him well.'

Legolas felt the soft palm of his father's hand skim over his head and he looked up.

'We tried to make you proud, Ada, me and Ro both. We tried to stay brave when the men came, but it was hard and the walls were dead and cold and we were hungry, you know!'

He didn't mind it so much, now. When his Ada swooped down and wrapped him tight in his arms, this time, Legolas just laid his head against the broad shoulder and sighed.

Sometimes, it was difficult to be an almost-nearly-warrior. And things certainly did get confusing when everyone was speaking in horrid man-tongue and believing what leader-man had to say. But some things, at least, stayed quite simple.

'I love you, my Greenleaf.'

Mm-hmm. Some things Legolas knew without ever having to ask.

There was fear in the eyes of each of the humans before him, fear such as he had not seen for an era. He knew the wrath in his face was telling, that the scores of elven warriors ghosting behind him on deadly, silent feet was forcing home a bitter inevitability to the men scattered behind wattle and daub outbuildings, aiming trembling bolts and shaking arrows.

He knew that he should feel some inherent sorrow that it had come to this.

But he could not.

He _would_ not, so long as the son of his daughter remained within this deadened village, hidden by stone and mud and the bones of these mortal creatures' ancestors.

Elladan did not belong here, should never have been here, would not stay-

His rapid breaths tore from his heaving chest and he could take no more.

He knew what Galadriel would have said. She would have chided him for his impetuosity, calmed him with a golden word, then turned her bewitching charms on the peons he now faced. And they would have crumbled at the fearsome sight of her rage, in utter gratitude of her mercy, in mortified horror at the truth in her endless eyes.

But he had no such innate wonders at his disposal. And for the first time in a long while, he felt as hot-blooded and vicious as those he confronted. Galadriel was not here.

Celeborn was.

The dagger that whipped from his belt flew by the cowering faces of two of the men cringing behind a water barrel and thunked to a juddering halt in the upright support of the roof of the well.

Whilst it would have taken elven eyes to note the individual hairs that drifted down from the petrified heads, Celeborn was in no doubt as to the humans' acknowledgement of his intent. The silence alone told him as much.

'Two of our children have been returned to us. We are still waiting for the third to be brought out. My patience has ended. Your leader is finished; this foolishness is done with. Return the child or this village will be returned to the dust it was built from. All restraint is gone from my being and by the Valar, should my daughter's son be harmed in any way, the right of vengeance I shall claim. And know this; the blood spilled of my blood shall be returned tenfold amongst your own.'

The eyes grew wider and Celeborn could feel the solid line of elves waiting, steadfast and terrible at his back.

Yet still, none of them moved.

Spitting on the grass before him, he felt his lip curl into a snarl reserved only for those he considered beneath contempt. Never amongst his own kind would he have needed to repeat himself. Surely they could read the honesty in his words, even shrouded in fury as they were? Surely they recognised an endgame when they saw it?

He took a step forward and growled.

'He is gone! We do not have him!'

His head snapped to one side, fixing his gaze upon the unfortunate who had spoken.

'Gone. Where.'

He would not accept the increasingly, sickeningly obvious answer. He would not hear it, and so help him, should this human utter it…

'Gone! We don't know where, wherever you lot take your kin when they're hurt, I s'pose - up a tree, into a magic forest, I don't know - just not here, alright? He was 'ere with the others, then-'

The metal which appeared at the quivering white throat probably did not help the clarity of the man's words, but it certainly improved Celeborn's rapidly darkening state of mind.

'You think this a jest, human? You would mock me and mine on a day such as this, when your very existence has come to offend me so? You play a risky game indeed, sir, when the advantage lies largely with myself and my well-polished blade.'

The squeak was as music to the elf lord's ears.

'He took 'im, the crazed elf with the gold 'air! He came and took 'im right from under us, I swear it, he took the little elf and scarpered back into your haunted forest! S'true, I swear on my father, my father's father and 'is before 'im, I swear it so please don't chop off my head, sir, I swear it, we don't 'ave your littl'un anymore!'

Lowered eyebrows - the only outward sign of Celeborn's thoughts - must not have translated well, as he suddenly caught the bitter tang of salt on the air. Glancing at the man's clothing, Celeborn took a slight step back, edging his boots away from the growing puddle on the ground between them.

He looked again at the man before him, and this time, truly saw.

_A boy, just a boy. One who has probably lived only a few summers more than my own grandchildren, but forced to age before his time, even for a mortal._ He shook his head and lowered his blade, anger frothing in his belly but no longer fueling his actions. 'And here I stand, threatening the child of another. This is a miserable day indeed.'

Glancing back at the gathered elven warriors behind him, he stretched out a hand, palm down, gentling the fury in each set of hardened eyes.

'Nay, my friends, I do not believe that our strength is warranted on this field of battle. Return to our woods and spread out; the Lord Glorfindel should be close by and carrying Lord Elladan. I would reunite my grandson with his parents as swiftly as possible.'

As proud as Celeborn had long been of his people, never had he more cause for it than in that instant, where loving rage turned to dedicated loyalty, where hesitation was not seen in any individual, where each of those that he commanded melted back into muted pacifism, but with all the speed and intensity of a mother wolf hunting a missing cub.

He turned back to the man he had tormented. 'Go, boy, clean yourself up. It was never my intention to humiliate you, only to find my daughter's children.' He watched with a growing relief in his heart as the man backed away, scuttling into the nearest doorway but making no effort to go any further. The elf lord shrugged mentally. It was of no interest to him if these humans chose to live in filth; he had that which he had come for, and was, as of this moment, finished with this village.

The sooner he could see both of his grandsons, together, hale and whole, the sooner they could put this entire sorry affair behind them. It made him infinitely grateful that Imladris was not his realm – honestly, he had no idea how Elrond could bear the tribulations of races such as these. Shrugging his shoulders physically this time, he began the walk back to his family.

_Must be his half-blood heritage, _Celeborn mused. _Although I certainly hope that the twins have inherited no such 'gifts' from their father's side. They find enough trouble as it is without embroiling themselves in other people's problems!_

Yet even as the thought flickered through his mind, he could hear and feel a gold-tinted chuckle echo in his head. He sighed. _Tis futile, I suppose. With a half-blood father and a full-blooded, head-strong, stubborn-natured elf princess as a mother, I will be chasing those two scalliwags all over creation for an age to come._

Gazing at the tiny figure held between his daughter and son-in-law, Celeborn could not help but laugh a little. Now that he had his grandsons back, he found that he was looking forward to the adventure.


End file.
